


BatJokes Advent Calendar 2016

by bonaweab



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Almost smut, Batjokes, Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Fruitcake, Hot Chocolate, I'll try to post on time, If some warnings apply then there'll be notes for when, Joker is thirsty, M/M, Snow, Snowman, batarangs are my currency, batman beats some people up, because i specialize at being late with everything, bruce is thirsty, but no explicit mentions of smut, christmas gram, deck the halls indeed, harley x ivy (currently in the background), jokeman, lots of snow, mostly just before the smut, no promises though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 22,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaweab/pseuds/bonaweab
Summary: A bunch of short (or long) fics centering around Joker and Batsy spending the holidays together. Rating and tags are subject to change as I continue publishing chapters.





	1. The Naughty List

It was a viciously cold winter in Gotham City this year. Not only was the wind howling through the city like a scorned banshee, the snow was really thick. To the point that almost everyone, including plenty of the city’s resident supervillains, decided that fuck all, tonight wasn’t worth going outside for anything.

  
Except the Joker.

  
_Obviously_.

  
If Bruce hadn’t cared so much about the innocent people of this city, he would’ve returned home to sip away at some coffee while sitting in front of the roaring fireplace in the library. Preferably in a nice, thick sweater. If the Joker wanted to freeze his skinny white ass off in this despicable weather, then that was his predilection. Unfortunately, the Joker had to go ahead and hold some of the people working at Santa’s Workshop hostage. Bruce sighed. Just another night in Gotham.

  
Without another thought mulling over the bad hand the deck of fate had dealt him, Bruce raced across the rooftops of Gotham City, his cape billowing in the frigid wind. If Dick were here, he would have made a joke about being like the Superhero version of Santa Claus. Bruce kind of missed it, and he wondered for a moment how Dick was holding up over in Blüdhaven.

  
Bruce jumped the gap between two skyscrapers, the chilly wind scratching at his numbing face with snowflakes that felt like razorblades against his chapped skin. Finally, Bruce located the building that was holding the Workshop. It wasn’t very hard—the Joker had somehow set up bright red and green neon lights that read, _Ho ho ho, Batsy Baby~!_ He’d also made a snowman in the middle of the street. The snowman had a giant grin carved onto its face that was traced in red gummies, and also extended one stick hand into the sky, making a notably obscene gesture that was probably aimed at Bruce. He snorted; sometimes, the Joker acted like such a child. Without further ado, Batman began canvassing the building, pinpointing the locations of both the hostages and Joker’s lackeys. Once he was sure of himself, he leapt off the roof of the building he was currently on and flew in through the window of the other building, managing to catch one of the henchmen in his chest. The man hit the floor, his head cracking against its faded linoleum surface. The henchman was out like a faulty Christmas light—Bruce really had to stop listening to all of the Joker’s (usually awful) Christmas jokes.

  
Bruce heard the shouts of the henchmen in the floor below him, and he silently hid in the shadows. The henchmen rushed up the stairs, making enough noise to wake even the deepest sleeper. One goon found the unconscious body of his compatriot, and he began yelling out to his friends, warning them of their unfriendly local Batman. The band of cronies began to spread out, meandering a lot like a bunch of lost ducks. Amateurs.

  
Bruce stalked silently over to the nearest henchman and wrapped his arms around the man’s head and throat, putting him in a sleeper’s hold. The man struggled for a bit before losing consciousness, his body going limp. Bruce quickly grabbed the man’s gun before it could clatter on the floor, and then he quickly and quietly laid the man out on the floor. He ejected the magazine from the gun before laying the gun on the ground as well. Three more to go. Bruce hid amongst the shadows, knocking two more out before tossing a batarang at the last one, knocking the gun from their hands. The goon cried out, holding his injured wrist, before Bruce strode over and slammed his Kevlar-protected elbow up into the goon’s chin, _hard_.

  
Once the room became silent once more, Bruce emptied all the guns before heading for the stairwell. As he made his way down to the ground floor where Santa’s Workshop was located, a thought continued to nag him. Usually, the Joker hired the best men for the job, or at least tried. These men were obviously fairly new at the whole “bad guy” thing; one of them didn’t even seem to know how to hold a gun properly. As of this moment, Bruce had no idea what the Joker’s game was. If the Joker had wanted to rob someplace, he could’ve headed for the Gotham Central Bank, which was currently operating with a smaller staff; most people couldn’t make it to work because of the snowfall. Of course, the madman could just be doing this for kicks, but he would have hired smarter then. Oh, well. There was only one way to find out.

  
Bruce found the location of Santa’s Workshop easily enough, and without waiting another moment, he kicked the double doors open. It wasn’t the most efficient way of getting things done, but Bruce had to admit that that felt just as badass as it looked. Bruce was greeted by the sight of the Joker in a festive Santa hat, which was slightly tilted to the left in a way that suggested carelessness (even though Bruce was 99 percent sure that the Joker spent hours finding just the right angle to tilt it at; as much as Bruce hated to admit it, the Joker always put a lot of effort into his looks, and it showed). The Joker sat comfortably on Santa’s throne, one long leg resting on top of his knee (hoo, boy, were his purple slacks looking tighter than usual, or did the cold get to Bruce’s brain?). A giant red and green striped candy cane laid across the Joker’s lap, an intensely, almost insultingly, ugly orange ribbon wrapped around the cane’s shaft (we will most certainly not be thinking about shafts of any shape or form, Bruce). Bruce highly doubted that the Joker just invited him here to give him an early Christmas present, and he eyed the giant candy cane warily. Nevertheless, the Joker grinned brightly at him, even more so than usual. His smile nearly split his head in half, and the madman waved his fingers at Bruce almost suggestively before cackling out loud. “Batsy, darling, you finally graced me with your oh-so- _delicious_ presence! Why’d you take so long? Were you angry that I put your name on the Naughty List?” What did that even _mean_? As he thought this, the Joker spread his arms open wide, and Bruce noticed the acid green felt bow wrapped around the madman’s neck, as if he was a present just waiting for Bruce to unwrap him and open him up—

  
Bruce really needed to get more sleep. In more ways than one.

  
“Where are the hostages, Joker?” Bruce growled in his usual guttural fashion, his throat used to all the strain he’d put on it over the years. Bruce laid a hand over his stash of batarangs in case the Joker tried anything a bit _too_ funny.

  
The Joker let out another one of his signature laughs, the candy cane resting on top of his leg wobbling dangerously. He leaned back on his mahogany throne, his piercing emerald eyes glinting harshly behind his bright green curls. The Joker’s grin sharpened into a smirk. “Why, Batsy,” the Joker chuckled, “If I told you where they were, then this game wouldn’t be fun at ALL!” The Joker wiggled his hips, nestling himself even deeper into the mahogany throne (wow, we have more pressing matters to think about than Joker’s glorious hips, you pervert). “Mmhmm, I think I’ll bring this chair back with me when I’m done here.” The Joker grabbed the candy cane, swinging it around as he sprawled out on the throne. He grinned at Bruce, his red lips glistening under the fluorescent light. “Jealous of the chair, yet, Bats?”

  
Bruce made a point of completely ignoring that question.

  
The Joker’s shoulders shook with laughter as he held the candy cane with one hand and straightened his Santa hat with the other. At that moment, Bruce rushed the clown, aiming for the other man’s precious face. The Joker just barely managed to dodge Bruce’s gauntleted fist. The clown cackled, swinging the oversized candy cane at Bruce’s head. Bruce blocked the blow with his forearm and winced internally. Just what the hell was that candy cane made of? The Joker continued to swing the candy cane at Bruce, yelling out between strings of laughter, “What, Batsy dearest, don’t like the taste of peppermint?!” Bruce managed to roll out of the way as the candy cane whistled past the space where his head had been just moments before.

  
He needed a new plan.

  
Bruce sidestepped another swing, making his way out of the Joker’s immediate area. The Joker pouted before reaching for the bottom of the candy cane. “Aww, Bats, all I wanted to do was spread the Christmas spirit!” Bruce hastily grasped for a batarang as the Joker unscrewed the end of the candy cane. How did Bruce not notice that? He really needed a vacation. The Joker aimed the end of the cane at Bruce, beaming as if he was getting just what he’d wanted for Christmas. Bruce quickly rolled out of the way as the cane made a whirring noise before something shot out at Bruce’s previous location, crashing through the window and implanting itself in a snow mound before blowing the pile of snow sky high. Bruce exhaled through his nose; of course the Joker brought along a rocket launcher. The Joker hopped off of the throne, scrambling behind the chair as he searched for some ammo in order to reload the rocket launcher with. Bruce strode across the length of the room as the Joker hastily shoved another rocket into the candy cane. With no further pretense, Bruce slammed his fist into the side of the Joker’s head. The Joker flew to the right a couple feet, blood flying as he lost his grip on the candy cane. His Santa hat soared off of his head, landing in a heap a few feet from Bruce. The clown’s body crashed into the wine red wall, and he landed gracelessly on the floor with a thump.

  
Bruce made his way over to his nemesis as the Joker stiffly sat up, giggling quietly. Bruce grabbed the lapels of the Joker’s purple coat, and he slammed the lanky man against the wall. The breath rushed out of the Joker’s lungs, and Bruce pressed his arm against the Joker’s throat. “Where are the hostages?”

  
The Joker inhaled shakily, the wind rasping into his throat as he continued to smile at Bruce. “What, Batty Bat, felt like skipping the foreplay today?” Bruce flushed and couldn’t have felt happier that he was wearing a mask. The Joker’s flirtations were getting to him today? Maybe today was just an off day. Bruce decided to increase the pressure on the Joker’s throat. The Joker struggled to take in oxygen, but instead of complying (like that would ever happen), he said, “Poor Bats, you sure aren’t gonna be on the Nice List if you keep acting like this.” The Joker quickly reached down for the flower pinned to his purple coat and sprayed a little of his venom at Bruce’s face.

  
Bruce reeled back, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Joker’s deadly concoction. The Joker fell to the floor and righted himself before sprinting for a back door. Bruce re-oriented himself as he chased after the Joker, the madman’s maniacal laughter trailing behind him. Bruce ran down the stairs, taking them three at a time. He continued to give chase, following the clown’s laugh down a musty hallway that smelled like mildew. Bruce reached a locked door at the end of the hallways, and took a few steps back. He dashed forward, planning to ram his shoulder into the door—

  
\--When the lock clicked and the door flew open. Bruce flew past the doorway, his momentum carrying him far further than he intended on going. Bruce sailed into the gigantic room, landing headfirst in a giant pile of coal. He registered the Joker’s loud laughter in the back of his mind, and made a mental note to punch the other man in the face some time later (after making out with him—wow, that fall sure injured his already muddled brain). Bruce sat up, his entire suit covered in a fine coat of coal dust. The Joker, chest still heaving from his most recent bout of laughter, sauntered over to Bruce, shoving the vigilante to the ground as he straddled the other man’s Kevlar-bound hips. Bruce hissed despite not really being able to feel the clown’s hips grinding into his. The Joker smirked at Bruce’s reaction. “Useless coal for naughty boys, Batsy~! You know the rules. Now I’ve got to _punish_ you.” The Joker giggled as he splayed his fingers across Bruce’s chest. The Joker leaned in, whispering conspiratorially as he pointed at the ceiling, “You see that, Batsy?” Bruce glanced past the other man’s green curls—which were remarkably soft and smelled like rosemary—and took note of the very large stick of mistletoe hanging above them.

  
Oh.

  
As the Joker leaned down towards Bruce again, Bruce swung up and stole a kiss from the clown. The Joker’s lips were just as soft as he thought they were nice, and Bruce tried very hard not to make any noises—he didn’t want the Joker thinking that he was a little too excited. The Joker blushed furiously as his face went through a variety of emotions—anger, shock, happiness—before settling on bemusement. He adjusted his stance so that his hands were resting on both sides of Bruce’s face. He smiled softly. “You know, Batsy, that was what I was going to do… Did I mention that my lipstick looks great on your lips? Because I--”

  
It was Bruce’s turn to smirk. While the Joker was distracted, Bruce heaved up, switching their positions drastically. The Joker’s eyes widened in shock as he laid there, too surprised to speak for once. Bruce grabbed the clown’s wrists, but the Joker didn’t seem to currently have the capacity to even attempt to struggle. “I think I like you better like this,” Bruce muttered, and the Joker laughed.

  
Bruce brought the Joker’s wrists up, then held them with one hand. The Joker wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh? Batsy, we didn’t even go on a date yet! You scandalous—“ The Joker’s face blanched when he heard the sound of handcuffs. He glared pointedly at Bruce. “Did you just handcuff me, Bats?”

  
Bruce let out a small chuckle. He was really warming up to the whole “interrupting Joker” thing. “I just didn’t want you running off anywhere before we did anything more… substantial.” The Joker snickered at that comment. “Now. The hostages?”

  
The Joker grinned, eyes darkening with lust. “Oh, I’ll tell you, but only if you’ll play rough.” The Joker drawled huskily, and Bruce felt his blood rush southwards.

  
“Deal.”


	2. Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes out for a walk and ends up running into the Joker. Stuff happens.

The harsh snowfall that had been plaguing Gotham City since mid-November had finally ceased, and Bruce decided to celebrate this fact by taking a walk in one of the city’s many public parks. As he’d left the mansion, Alfred had stopped him, holding out a pair of snowshoes. At the time, Bruce laughed, thinking it was one of Alfred’s over-protective moments, and he had insisted that the snow couldn’t have been _that_ bad, and that there was no need for snowshoes. They didn’t live in Canada, after all. Now, Bruce was trudging (more like waddling, really) through the waist-deep snow, the cold wetness pooling in his boots despite their advertised insulation. Bruce desperately wished he could go back in time and punch his former self.

 

Bruce took another step, attempting to reach the sidewalked pathway (it was just a few feet away; come on, Bruce, you’re _Batman_ , this snow should be chump change), and he felt his foot slip out from underneath him. Bruce slammed face-first into the snow, his face becoming so cold so that for a moment he wondered if someone had just stabbed him in the face with a flaming needle. Bruce cried out belatedly in pain (and frustration, and shame, but he refused to acknowledge the last two), his voice muffled by the mouthful of snow he’d almost swallowed.

 

Bruce pulled his head out of the snow and decided that, just this once, he was allowed to show his true emotions. So he proceeded to swear under his breath as he repeatedly punched the hard-packed snow (jeez, watch the knuckles or else you'll break them). It helped to imagine the snow was the Joker's face (Bruce, you're imagining a different part of Joker's body, aren't you?). As a final signal of his defeat and just general pissed-offness, Bruce let out a rather loud scream of barely-repressed anger. He didn't really have to care about his reputation as of right now. It's not as if anyone was here—

 

Poison Ivy, bundled in probably three or more layers of thick clothing (black and red, Harley's colors, of course) stormed furiously past, keeping her gaze as far away from Bruce's direction as humanly possible. Harley clung to her girlfriend, giggling while trying to record a good video of Bruce's meltdown on her phone.

 

Today was just not Bruce's day.

 

Bruce decided that fuck it, he just wanted to go _home_. He was beginning to debate moving his bed permanently next to the fireplace. With little effort, Bruce hauled himself to his feet and began to trudge through the snow. It took several minutes, but Bruce finally made it onto the very solid and blessedly snow-less sidewalk. Bruce took a moment to collect himself and check for any sort of damage he may have sustained (the only thing horribly wounded was his pride, but he could always yoga all the pain away). His jeans and boots were completely soaked, and he could feel the wet cloth chafing miserably against his legs. He really should’ve listened to Alfred’s advice. Bruce puffed out a cloud of frosted breath before he turned in the direction Ivy and Harley came from. He shuffled along the sidewalk, planning on taking his time. He reached into his pocket in order to let Alfred know that he would be returning home shortly—

 

He didn’t have his phone.

 

_Good_.

 

Bruce turned on his heel and ran back to the place where he’d tripped. He began digging viciously through the snow, searching desperately for his phone as he ignored the cold that began seeping into his mittens. A few minutes later, and Bruce decided that there was no hope. The only thing he could do now was leave the park and wallow in his own misery. So, Bruce speed-walked down the salted lane, rubbing his hands and arms in order to create friction (maybe if the Joker was here, then this friction problem could’ve been solved. Or, Bruce could’ve brought the damn snowshoes.). Bruce exited the park after ten minutes and made his way through the crowds towards the tiny shop he’d parked his (least conspicuous) car, silently thanking the people around him for blocking him from the wind. Bruce continued down the sidewalk, his pace quickening when he was in sight of his beloved, warm, and toasty car—

 

As Bruce passed beneath the awning of a small deli whose name he couldn’t remember at the moment, he heard this strange noise. It was a sort of _fwoof-whump_ —

 

Bruce had time to barely register what was happening before he was buried beneath a pile of snow. He scrambled for the surface, eventually reaching it and hauling himself out. He gasped for air, his face scrunched up in confusion when he saw (and heard the incessant laughter of) someone that he just didn’t want to deal with right now.

 

“Joker,” Bruce growled on instinct, almost forgetting for a moment that he was Bruce Wayne right now and not Batman. Eh. Either way, he still wanted to punch the Joker’s lights out. Whether it was because he was already feeling like shit or it was because the Joker was his enemy, and they just greeted each other like that, he wasn’t too sure.

 

“Hey, there, Brucie. You were lookin’ pretty down, so _I_ decided to cheer you right back up! And what better way to cheer someone up than by throwing some of winter’s white stuff their way?” The Joker cackled at that, one hand pointing up at the awning above them (Bruce should’ve figured that out sooner) and the other extended towards him, the clown’s pale white skin standing out between his bright green shirt cuff and his purple leather glove. Bruce noted absently that the Joker was wearing a striped red-and-blue Santa hat. It clashed with absolutely everything else the Joker was wearing, and Bruce was sure that the Joker was rejoicing in that fact. “Need some help, Brucie baby?”

 

Bruce scowled. Dealing with the Joker as Batman was already intensely laborious (in more ways than one), but now that the Joker had learned who the man was beneath the suit, the clown just wouldn’t stop pestering him. Bruce was beginning to wish that he’d never left the house today. He could’ve just stayed indoors and celebrated the change in the weather from inside Wayne Manor, but _nooo_ , he has to go out and experience the joys of Mother Nature himself. Bruce was pretty sure that right now, Mother Nature was laughing along with the Joker. Ignoring the outstretched madman’s hand, Bruce rose to his feet, brushing the stubborner snowflakes off of his clothes. The Joker pouted so deeply that Bruce was afraid he was going to touch a nerve. Bruce flashed a charismatic (but rather strained) smile at the clown before he replied, “No, thanks, Joker. I think I’m going to get in my car, then find a place with intensely strong eggnog and forget that today ever happened--”

 

_Poff!_ Bruce stood there in shock, the snowball that connected with his face slowly dripping downwards and melting into his scarf and coat front. Bruce blinked slowly several times, trying to process what had just happened. Bruce noticed the tiny mound of snowballs by the Joker’s feet (how the hell did he find the time to make so many while Bruce was standing _right in front_ of him?). The Joker bent over, laughing so hard that he was leaning forward, bent over with the strain. Bruce smirked: a wonderful opportunity has just arisen.

 

As the Joker struggled to catch his breath, smoothing some of his deep green hair away from his face, Bruce turned to the mound of snow that buried him only moments ago. Grabbing as much snow as he could physically carry in his arms, Bruce turned around, once again facing the Joker’s bent-over form. Without further ceremony, Bruce lifted his arms and dumped the snow on top of the Joker’s head. The Joker had been tipping forward on his toes as Bruce let go of all the snow, and the weight of it threw the Joker off-balance. The Joker crashed gracelessly onto the sidewalk face-first, and now it was Bruce’s turn to laugh at the misfortune of his enemy. It was… certainly a nice feeling. Bruce could feel something lifting off of his chest.

 

The Joker managed to right himself quickly, and he scowled over at Bruce, despite his eyes shining with mirth. “Oh, Brucie,” the clown crooned softly, “You aren’t challenging _me_ to a snowball fight, are you? I’ll have you know, not even Eddie can—“ The Joker ducked as Bruce chucked a snowball in his direction, Bruce snickering the entire time. The Joker righted himself, standing with almost cartoonishly wide gestures. The Joker cracked his knuckles, grinning wildly. “Brucie, Brucie, Brucie. By the time I’m through with you, your balls will be so cold that snowmen everywhere will be disgustingly jealous.” Letting out a long string of excited giggling, the Joker grabbed for a snowball and raised his arm high. Bruce managed to maneuver his way out of the Joker’s aim, and he scampered away. There was something almost _nice_ about having the Joker do the chasing for once. Bruce began to make his way back to the park. Starting a snowball fight in the middle of a sidewalk in Gotham City was just asking for some muscle-bound hothead to shove their fist down your throat. Bruce made sure to weave his way around the innocent Gothamites—while he knew for sure that the Joker was homing in on Bruce and no one else, Bruce didn’t want to cause any accidents due to a careless mistake on his part.

 

By some strange Christmas miracle, Bruce had made his way over to the entrance of Gotham City’s nearly empty park. The Joker was hot on his tail, hollering various Christmas-themed insults (Bruce had to hand it to the madman: he just _never_ ran out of material). Bruce took a moment to catch his breath before he dived behind a bush, grinning like a fool. Bruce partially parted the bush’s branches so that he could more clearly watch the Joker from his hiding spot.

 

The Joker almost screeched to a stop once he entered the park. He put his hands behind his back and began whistling ‘Deck the Halls’ as he cast a casual, almost lazy glance around the general area. The Joker began goose-stepping around the premises, his lone snowball clutched in his hands ( _Welcome back, perverted thoughts. Took you long enough_ , Bruce mused.). Bruce crouched as low as he could go, one hand holding the bush branches in place lest they rustle and make some noise in the empty space, the other hand quickly forming a crude snowball. Bruce’s eyes glinted in anticipation as he waited for the Joker to make his next move.

 

The Joker turned slowly, still whistling Christmas carols. Once he was facing Bruce’s hiding place, the Joker stopped whistling. Bruce tensed slightly, though he was still grinning for reasons that he didn’t feel likes analyzing right now. The Joker casually tossed the snowball up into the air before catching it in what was perhaps the most effortless way imaginable. The madman slowly stepped towards the bush, his neutral expression slowly morphing into a confident smirk. He stopped a few feet in front of the bush. “Hiiiiiii, Brucie baby,” the Joker drew out his words to the point that it was almost criminally suggestive. Bruce felt his heart rate quicken slightly (hoo, it sure is getting _hot_ in here. Everyone could do with shedding a few articles of clothing right now, but Bruce refused the urge). Leaning forward, the clown continued his one-sided conversation. “You know, sweetums, if you wanted to hide, you should’ve checked to make sure that your scarf wasn’t _caught_ on anything.” He nodded at the tree standing behind Bruce. Bruce quickly glanced back only to see that nothing was wrong, but—

 

_Poff_. The Joker let out a laugh as his last snowball splattered against the back of Bruce’s head, making the billionaire jolt in surprise. Bruce turned around, frowning despite not feeling very angry. He strode over to the Joker, who managed to get himself back under control. “You cheated,” Bruce accused, despite not sounding very convincing, not even to himself. Bruce reached for the lapels of the Joker’s purple coat out of habit, and the Joker stepped in to close the distance, grabbing onto Bruce’s scarf.

 

“Oh, Bruce, baby, a win is a win.” The Joker smirked triumphantly. “So, what do I get for being the winner?”

 

Bruce brought the thinner man closer for a kiss, his earlier anger now a thing of the past. Bruce pulled back, noting that the Joker’s lipstick as now smudged.

 

The Joker smiled slightly before adopting an exaggeratedly angry face. “Is that aaaallll?” He drawled.

 

Bruce beamed. “How about we head back to my penthouse and cuddle by the fire?”

 

The Joker chuckled slightly. “If your cuddle is the same as my cuddle, then by all means, lead the way~”

 

Bruce was starting to think that leaving the snowshoes with Alfred was a good idea, after all.


	3. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has hot chocolate. Fluffy things ensue.

It was just another night on patrol. There wasn’t much going on. Just the usual muggings and petty crime. Small things that Bruce never had to put any thought into stopping. Night was rapidly becoming day, and as the sun began its ascent higher into the heavens, rays of light reflected off of the skyscrapers’ windows and the freshly-fallen snow on the ground. It was such a calming image that Bruce would’ve stopped to admire if he wasn’t so dead tired. Bruce leapt the spaces between the roofs of buildings as he hastened to the location where he’d hidden the Batmobile. There was a thermos of hot chocolate in the Batmobile with his name on it.

Bruce quickly unlocked the Batmobile, flopping gracelessly into the driver's seat. He tucked his legs beneath the steering wheel as he reached to shut the door—

When someone slid into the seat next to him. Bruce cursed, quickly reaching for a batarang. The person next to him held his arms up, grinning in what Bruce assumed was supposed to be an innocent smile. Bruce doubted this person even knew how to smile innocently, though Bruce certainly had to give the other man five stars for effort. Bruce loosened the tension in his shoulders, but only slightly. “Joker,” Bruce growled by ways of acknowledgement. The Joker grinned, but he looked decidedly more exhausted than usual. The Joker's vibrant green hair was stiff and frozen in patches, and his normally finely pressed suit was ruffled and torn and sopping wet along the hem of his pant legs. Bruce also noticed that the Joker appeared to be missing his left shoe. Bruce decided that the best course of action was to stay silent on the matter of the Joker's appearance. Instead, Bruce inquired into a more relevant vein of discussion. “Why are you in my car?”

The Joker let out a bark of laughter, but it sounded forced even to Bruce. “Batsy, a girl's got her secrets, you know? Now, why don’t you be a true hero and drop me off someplace nice and warm?” The Joker smiled widely despite his voice sounding strained and rather thin.

“No,” Bruce replied immediately. The Joker pouted. Bruce felt… bad for his nemesis—he looked like he literally climbed out of a frozen river—but he still had to set boundaries, and going for a joyride in the Batmobile was one of them. “I'm not a taxi,” Bruce concluded, albeit a beat late.

The Joker sighed. “Fine fine fine fine, Batsy.” However, even as he said that, the clown snuggled even more deeply into the Batmobile's leathered seat. “Just let me warm up a little, Bats,” the Joker murmured, letting his exhaustion show in his voice.

Bruce reached over to shove the Joker out of his car when he noticed that the other man was shaking slightly. Bruce sighed and turned to reach for his thermos of hot chocolate. Bruce unscrewed the cap and handed the thermos to the clown. “Here. Drink this.” The Joker took the thermos with quaking hands, sniffing it experimentally. Bruce tsked. “It's just hot chocolate, Joker.”

The Joker looked at Bruce with an almost soft gaze before he took a sip of the hot chocolate. “Thank you, Bats.”

Bruce sat back in his chair. “Think of it as your Christmas present.” The Joker chuckled softly at that.

Bruce and the Joker stayed that way for a while, and Bruce memorized the calmness. It probably would never come again, and Bruce wanted to engrave this moment into his heart. He didn't know why, but the thought of having more moments like this with the Joker made his heart sing.

The sunshine cast its warm glow onto Gotham City, lighting the buildings and the snow in a beautiful array of warm colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I really liked how this chapter turned out.


	4. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of blood and saliva and the death and injury of several background original characters in this chapter. I don't go into too much detail, but you've been warned.

The Batmobile tore down Main Street, cars swerving out of its way. Bruce could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance, and he ground down on his teeth. Bruce was closing in on the police perimeter, and from what he could tell from the police feed, the situation was not getting better. The Joker had decided to blow up an apartment block for the hell of it, and as the seconds ticked on by, the body count was rising. Ten dead so far, thirteen injured. _How much longer could the city take this sort of abuse_? Bruce wondered. _How many more people were going to die before the Joker was satisfied?_ Bruce shook his head; there was no need to brood over questions that would never be answered.

Bruce made a hard turn, the tires of the Batmobile screeching in protest. Bruce barely made the turn, the rear end of the Batmobile just barely missing the wall of a nondescript brick building. Bruce continued driving at high speed, the burning rubble of what was once an apartment quickly coming into view. Bruce slammed his boot against the brakes, bringing the Batmobile to a jarring stop. Without waiting for his body to adapt to the sudden stop in motion, Bruce kicked open the car door and exited from the vehicle, his cape billowing in the frosty winter winds. Bruce glanced among the policemen and women, searching for a familiar face. Once he'd spotted who he was searching for, the billionaire approached the person in question quickly but stealthily. Once he'd reached the other man, he called out gruffly, “Commissioner Gordon.”

Gordon nearly drops the police radio he was holding, his nerves already stretched thin by the Joker's handiwork. Gordon eases up as soon as he catches sight of Bruce, but not by much. “Batman, good to see you here,” Gordon barks out by way of a greeting. Bruce approaches the grizzled commissioner so that they didn't need to yell to hear each other. Bruce's cape drags on the muddied snow that squelched beneath his boots, and the vigilante stops within several feet of Gordon. Bruce nodded, a silent indicator that Gordon should continue with the report. Gordon sighs. “Joker's blown up this apartment building. The deeper we dig, the more bodies we find.” Gordon's voice belied just how tired he really was. “Christmas is just around the corner. I just don't see why that madman felt the urge to end people's lives this close to the holidays.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, albeit so slightly that he doubted the commissioner even registered the action. “Tell your men to be cautious. No doubt the Joker is in the immediate area.” Gordon nodded stiffly. Bruce turned on his heel as he made to enter the ruins of the apartment block. The vigilante ducked beneath a fallen wooden beam, making his way through the piles of rubbish that populated what was once someone else's home. Bruce activated a scanner as he searched the lot for any potential evidence. Bruce noticed footprints in the snow and wondered why no one had decided to investigate it earlier. Bruce deactivated the scanner and followed the trail, which led him down an alley. At the end of the alley, a police officer laid, her pistol lying a few feet away from her. Her throat had been sliced wide open, a haunting parody of the Joker’s blood-red smile. So that's what happened to the person who'd followed the footprint path before him. Bruce's scowl deepened; another life lost. He made a note to look into upgrading the speed of the Batmobile. Bruce continued following the trail of footprints, which was stained with the blood of the fallen officer for a few feet. At the end of the trail, Bruce found what he was looking for. The Joker stood towering over a small fire that was going in one of the city’s trash cans.

Bruce took a small step towards the madman, silent as a shadow. Nevertheless, the Joker sensed his presence and turned on his heel, his huge signature grin plastered on his face. The vigilante took a moment to assess the Joker’s appearance. The Joker was clad in one of his signature purple pinstripe suits, a bloodied knife in one hand and, surprisingly, a cast-iron frying pan in the other. Bruce quickly switched into a defensive pose despite the Joker’s casual attitude. “Joker.” Bruce took another, bigger step towards the crazed clown.

The Joker let out a bark of laughter, saluting Bruce. “Hey, there, Batsy boy. Looks like you’ve caught me red-handed.” The Joker placed the hand holding a knife over his heart in mock despair. “Oh, whatever shall I do now? The Big Bad Bat’s walked in on me roasting chestnuts over an open fire! I don’t think my reputation would ever be able to live this down!” The Joker turned on his heel, the frying pan spilling nearly half of its contents. The chestnuts fell to the ground, some badly burnt and others yet looking as if they were just tossed onto the pan. Bruce wasted no time in charging the Joker, attempting to knock the clown over. The Joker dodged, laughing maniacally as Bruce knocked the trashcan containing the flames over. Bruce quickly kicked some snow over the fire, successfully extinguishing it. Far be it from the billionaire from starting a neighborhood fire that might’ve burned the next block down. The Joker scrambled over to the other side of the street, still holding the frying pan. “Is that all you’ve got, Bats? Maybe all this crime-fighting’s really done a number on you! In that case, lemme give you your Christmas present a few weeks early!”

The green-eyed madman braced himself as Bruce bounded over, dodging the punch that was meant for his face. The Joker reached up and tipped the frying pan over, pouring some of the burning chestnuts onto Bruce’s face. For the most part, the chestnuts merely bounced off of Bruce’s cowl, but one managed to catch him on the side of his face, next to the corner of his mouth. Bruce hissed, his mouth twitching slightly as his nerves lit up with pain. _Ignore it,_ he willed himself.

With the frying pan now empty, the Joker tucked his knife away and grabbed the pan with both hands, swinging it down onto Bruce’s chin. Bruce felt the contact flare into life on his nerves, his ears ringing from the impact. The vigilante shook his head before delivering an uppercut to the Joker’s stomach. The Joker wheezed, letting out a string of saliva and blood before he caught his breath. Stumbling back, Bruce’s arch-nemesis collected himself, then launched his thin frame at Bruce’s bulkier one, swinging the frying pan haphazardly. Bruce managed to keep his head from being hit, although several blows landed on his arms and abdomen. Bruce pulled his fist back, reading a left jab that was headed straight for the Joker’s head, when the Joker finally managed to clock the right side of Bruce’s head. Bruce staggered, and in his momentary state of weakness, the Joker shoved Bruce onto his back, then lowered himself so that he was straddling Bruce’s hips.

The Joker grinned down lazily at Bruce, leaning down and running a tongue against the side of Bruce’s face. Bruce felt a white hot rush of excitement shoot through him, a feeling that was quickly replaced by shame. _Don’t forget the victims of tonight’s explosion_ , a small voice in the back of his mind called out. _If you let him get to you, he’ll win._

Bruce struggled against the Joker’s weight, to no avail. It never ceased to surprise him just how strong the Joker could be when he felt like it. “What do you want, Joker,” Bruce deadpanned. The Joker laughed aloud, his eyes dancing with mirth, and something else. Something Bruce couldn’t put a name to right now.

“All I want for Christmas is you, sugar,” The Joker breathed out, his hot breath tickling Bruce’s chin. The vigilante poured all of his willpower into ignoring the needy tone in the Joker’s voice, despite the small, warped part of his heart deep down that ached for the clown’s touch. _He killed people. Don’t ever forget that._ Seemingly out of nowhere, the madman sat back up, his expression mildly surprised before devolving back into his trademark smile. “Oh, Bats, I almost forgot your Christmas present.” Chuckling, the Joker shifted his position on top of Bruce, grinding down onto Bruce’s crotch. Bruce could barely feel it against the thick padding of his suit, but he still felt himself go light-headed. Damn it. The clown was winning. The Joker continued exploring Bruce’s face with his tongue, and in spite of his training, of their shared history, of even what had transpired tonight, Bruce felt his resolve melting away. Soon, the Joker had him mewling, begging for more contact, even though Bruce desperately wished for otherwise. The Joker chuckled breathily. “Bats, I didn’t think that you’d be so… willing tonight.” The Joker sat up, eyeing his handiwork. “Unfortunately, darling, I’m afraid that that’s all I have time for right now. I’ve got places to be, chaos to sew.” The Joker started to get up, his attitude nonchalant.

Bruce reached out, grabbing onto the madman’s wrist before he could stop himself. “Don’t go,” Bruce could hear the pleading tone of his voice, and he mentally kicked himself for it. He could feel his desire melding with his shame, and it felt almost… euphoric. Bruce knew he was going to hate himself for this, but he couldn’t stop. “Please,” he tacked on, almost as an afterthought.

The Joker grinned, and Bruce could only be reminded of the slashed throat of the downed police officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of good about this chapter, but also like I'm horribly inept at everything. Feel free to leave constructive criticism in the comments!


	5. Snowed In

There was certainly something to be said about wintertime in Gotham City, and the word “pleasant” wasn't one of those statements; Mother Nature had made sure of that. It was ridiculous how bad the snow could get in this city, and if the citizens didn't know any better, they would've said that they lived in Greenland, or at least the northern bits of Canada. As of today, it was snowing intensely hard, and because of such, traffic had slowed to a crawl. The honks of cars and the curses of their drivers drifted into the small café despite all of the windows being shut tightly against the bitterly cold winds outside.

  
Near the back of said café, a man with fiercely green hair and a bright purple pinstripe suit tried to make himself small, for once. He nursed a cup of iced coffee that was meant to be to-go, back when he'd bought it half an hour ago. Since then, he'd managed to get a few extra rounds of hot chocolate and other sickeningly sweet drinks, but he had yet to pay for them. The cashier had tried demanding for payment, but the man just showed her a sleight of hand trick. The trick ended with the death of another patron, but that was no skin off his nose. Since then, the cashier hadn't bothered asking again. Boring. It looks like he had no choice but to wait out the storm. Or, if he was feeling especially frisky (and let's admit it, when did he not feel this way?), he could try and brave the weather in his non-insulated (but beautifully tailored) suit. Seeing as there was no other option of entertaining himself just short of murdering everyone else in this miserable little café (and it might just be the cold, but he was feeling a little bit too sluggish to go on a rampage), the cafe patron rose to his full height, nearly towering over everything and everyone else. He headed for the door, taking his sweet-ass time, dragging his feet along the floor and whistling his very own rendition of “Carol of the Bells,” the pitch of the tune dipping and soaring sky-high at the drop of a hat. Despite the green-haired man's obnoxious behavior, no one made so much as a noise as he crossed the café. The man in the pinstripe suit reached the door, grabbing the handle before deciding that he just wasn't done messing with the people here yet. So, the man turned on his heel, grinning maniacally. “Laaaaaa-dies and everyone else! It was nice squatting out this storm with the rest of you, but I've got more important things to do, like going out and buying a pony.” The man waved his fingers, a grin still hanging on his face. “I'll be sure to pay my bills next time. Toodles~!” Just as the green-haired maniac turned to open the door, someone else did it for him, and he cam face-to-face with Gotham City's playboy prince himself.

  
Bruce Wayne froze up, his cheeks still flushed from the harsh winds and sharp snowflakes outside. The crazed man came to the conclusion that Bruce looked very nice with reddened cheeks, even more so than usual. He'd have to try and get the playboy to look like that more often. Hmm, a wealth of possibilities was opening up before him. _Good_.

  
The pinstripe-suited man grinned at the playboy billionaire, his smile more radiant than before. He leaned against the small entranceway so that the only Bruce could actually enter the diner was to shove his way past the taller man. The man observed a quick flash of anger in Bruce's pretty blue eyes. He decided that he liked this one. “Why, helloooooo there, sweet cheeks,” the man began, holding out his hand for Bruce to shake. The playboy simply stared at the other man as if he'd just offered to bathe him in melted margarine. Despite the rather cold perception, the man continued on, unperturbed. “Name's Joker, but you know that, right? No, no, nooo, a cute little muffin like you's got to have seen me on the news at least once.” Another brilliant smile, and the man wrapped an arm around Bruce's shoulders. Bruce stiffened, but made no move to try and get the Joker's arm off of him. This one sure was more intelligent than the others. The Joker continued on with his mini-speech, paying no mind to the other patrons of the café. “I like flashy entrances, and being stuck on the front page is one of my favorite hobbies.”

  
The Joker cast a cursory glance over Bruce's rather chilled figure. “You look cold. Whaddaya say I get you some nice coffee to warm you riiiiiiight up?” Without waiting for an answer, the Joker steered Bruce towards the counter. He slammed one gloved hand on the counter, making the cashier nearly jump out of her skin. The Joker let out a guffaw a the cashier's reaction. “Hey there, would you mind getting me and my friend another round of coffee? On you, of course.” The Joker noticed Bruce nod, although the action was barely noticeable. Did the playboy think Joker couldn't see? The caution was cute, but unnecessary. The Joker turned his attentions back to the cashier, leaning in as his smile became far more predatory. “Come on, sugar, I don't like having to ask _twice_.” Casually, the Joker set his empty to-go cup on the counter and reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a pretty knife that shined so delicately in the fluorescent light. The cashier covered a hand to muffle her scream as she shakily reached behind the counter, pulling out two well-worn but well-cared-for coffee mugs. The Joker let his smile relax into a less bloodthirsty curve. “Good. Did I mention how great the service is around here? Don't forget to bring ‘em over when they're ready~” Without warning, the madman yanked Bruce away from the counter, the billionaire's adorable (and probably insanely expensive) beanie nearly flying off his head. The Joker practically wrangled the other man into the booth he was occupying only minutes ago. At first Bruce had tensed under the Joker's ministrations, and it almost felt as if the Joker wouldn't have been able to shove the other man down either way. However, once the playboy had realized what was happening, he'd loosened up almost immediately. _Interesting_.

  
As soon as they were seated, the Joker continued his friendly chat with Gotham's local billionaire. “So, do you often come down to the Narrows to drink some shitty coffee, or do you just do it so the rest of us have something to gossip about with our bingo buddies?”

 

Bruce smiled awkwardly, his body language practically screaming, _I don't want to be here!_ The Joker waited for a response, eyes narrowing. The playboy couldn't stay quiet for too long, and once he'd cracked, the Joker wanted to commit his entire response to memory. No doubt it would be hi- _larious_. The awkward silence began to settle in, the only noise being supplied by the rattling of the window panes and the harsh screeching of the wind outside. At some point, the cashier girl scampered over to their table, laying the mugs of coffee before them. Despite the clown's first impression of the girl, she somehow managed to keep her shaky hands from accidentally spilling the coffee. She'd be a joy to murder later. The Joker returned his attentions to the other man before him, who still hadn't tried to make conversation. The clown pouted so deeply that cartoons would've been jealous. As for Bruce, his nervous smile slowly became more and more forced, until he had to turn away from the Joker's laser-focused gaze. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the playboy coughed, covering that sweetly curved mouth of his with one delicate but firm hand. The Joker leaned in, his breath caught in his throat with what felt like anticipation. Finally, Bruce spoke, and god, if that voice wasn't even more honeyed and beautifully baritone in real life. “Um,” the playboy began. The clown couldn't help but let a tiny chuckle escape from his lips. To see one of Gotham's most charismatic and eloquent denizens at a loss for words gave the Joker this excellent feeling in his gut. Bruce continued onward with what he had first been saying (wow, did he just glare at the clown for a second? Joker had to give props to Bruce's ballsiness.). “As I was saying,” the playboy began, “My car… just stopped. And it was cold. So I came here.” Bruce was deadpanning so hard that the was almost on Batman levels of non-emoting.

Joker snorted derisively. “Is that aaaaaall, sweetums? Didn't even fight any abominable snowmen in your way over here?” Bruce let out a little chuckle at that. The Joker spread his arms out wide, donning a smile that nearly cleaved his head in two. “Ah, so even the stoic playboy has a sense of humor!” The clown's natural charm was getting to the other man, he could just feel it.

  
Bruce sat back in his seat, unzipping his rather thick parka now that he was out of the dangerously cold weather. The Joker watched the other man's actions, feeling almost as if he was attending some sort of show. Bruce slowly took a sip of his coffee, some warmth returning to his face. It was a much better look for him than hos half-dead appearance earlier. Bruce waved a hand, seemingly more becoming more comfortable with the green-haired madman's presence the longer he was in it. What an odd reaction. It was a breath if fresh air, really, and the clown was enjoying every second of it.

The Joker was quickly snapped out of his reverie once the billionaire continued the conversation. “Alright, I'll be truthful with you.”

  
The purple-suited madman raised one thin eyebrow. “Oh?”

  
Bruce sighed, seemingly slightly embarrassed over what he was about to say. It was… cute, to say in the least. “In actuality…” And so began Bruce's surprisingly long (and hilarious) tale of how he'd winded up driving out in this blizzard. Joker could've sworn that they'd been talking for hours, and he could definitely see the appeal all the women were clamoring for. Bruce smiled sheepishly once he'd finished his story, and the Joker let out a high-pitched string of laughter, garnering the attention of everyone in the café once again.

  
“Don't you have a butler for that sort of thing?” Bruce flushed, and the Joker decided that he'd have to get Bruce to do that again soon. Pretending to check a watch that he didn't have, the Joker rose from his seat, nearly tipping over his mug of untouched coffee. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay here, Brucie—can I call you Brucie?--I've got a plane to catch. As much as I'd love to continue our little chat, I've gotta head out.” As he'd said this, the Joker laid down something in front of Bruce. “But don't think this is the last time we'll meet, sugar. Just know that I've got an extra special present fir you next time~”

  
The clown left Bruce just as quickly as they'd met, and Bruce had waited until the clown's figure had disappeared from view before he'd went to check on just what exactly the madman had left for him.

  
It was a joker card, and on the back (in deceptively neat handwriting) was the Joker's phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to start writing early. These late nights are really wrecking me.


	6. Fruitcake

“What the hell is _this?_ ” Bruce held up a plastic Tupperware bowl containing some strange brown substance that the billionaire hesitated to term as “food.” As for the Joker, he continued to simper ingratiatingly at Bruce. He rubbed his hands together, and it was so James Bond supervillain cliché that he just had to let out a chuckle.

The Joker grinned back at his boyfriend, spreading out his skinny white arms as if he was addressing a giant room full of spectators. “Brucie, baby! I thought it was obvious!” When Bruce didn't immediately answer with a resounding “yes,” the Joker pouted, sticking out his bottom lip in full-on brat mode. “It's fruitcake, Baaaats,” he drawled.

Bruce felt one eyebrow shoot up in skeptic surprise. He'd never actually _had_ fruitcake, but from all the stereotypes and what Selina had told him…

Joker took note of the billionaire's hesitation. “C'mon, Brucie, eating some fruit won't kill ya! Hell, you know what they say! ‘An apple a day keeps good ol' Dr. Strange away!’” Before the billionaire could process what was happening, Joker snatched the Tupperware container from his hands and proceeded to pop the lid off of the container and eat a chunk of the abominable fruitcake. He grinned at Bruce as he chewed on the cake, some crumbs falling onto the lapel of his royal purple coat before he brushed it off. “Mm-mmm! Delicious! But since Brucie's got such a long stick up his ass, I guess that I'll have to eat this cake all by my lonesome self~!” Joker lowered his head, leaning in way too far into Bruce's personal space before continuing huskily, “Of course, given the right _push_ , I could be tempted to share~”

Bruce rolled his eyes before lightly shoving the Joker away from right in front of his face. Joker could be adorable, but right now he was focusing all of his energy into being the most obnoxious person on the planet. It was working.

At that moment, Dick passed by the doorway, holding a newly-wrapped present that he planned on sticking under the tree, for Damian. Dick noticed all the hubbub and jogged over to Bruce. He flinched when he saw Joker, but quickly recovered. “Hey, you two,” he began. “What're you guys up to?”

Joker delicately dabbed a corner of his mouth with a (fucking ugly) orange handkerchief, holding the Tupperware container up high. “I made fruitcake, but Brucie doesn't even _want_ any.”

Bruce sucked in a breath as the other two men watched him expectantly. "I... EveryonesaysthatfruitcakeisawfulandIdon'tfeelveryhungryandbesidesifIdon'twantanyfruitcakethat'smybusinessright." Bruce exhaled his entire excuse in one go, and it took Dick a moment just to properly process the deluge of information.

Dick gave Bruce a look of pity and disappointment. “C'mon, Bruce, where's the Christmas spirit?” Joker nodded his head vigorously at that statement, and Bruce made a point of ignoring him. Dick turned his attention to the clown, his expression softening slightly. “Besides, his cooking can't be all that bad, and I love fruitcake! Here, lemme at ‘em!” Dick reached out, and Joker handed over the Tupperware container with the most innocent expression Bruce had ever seen. Dick rook a generous bite from a slice of fruitcake.

It was just as bad as everyone else had said it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! Another chapter done! I hope you guys enjoyed this one. Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments!


	7. No Man like Snowman

There was certainly something to be said about the intensity of a snowman-building contest. Despite the laughably silly premise, everyone participating had an air of professionalism about themselves. It was one of the more surreal experiences Bruce was privy to. And if this particular contest was enough to distract most of Gotham City's supercriminals, so much the better.

Bruce was surprised that the members of Gotham's rogues gallery even cared so much about this contest. The grand prize was only twenty-five thousand dollars, money that could easily be laundered, stolen, or counterfeited by someone like Harvey Dent or Oswald Cobblepot. But, Bruce had heard through the grapevine that Nygma had bragged about just how good of a snow artist he was, and Dent had bristled at that comment, stating something or other about his grandmother. Then Joker joined the pissing contest just for funsies, and the whole thing snowballed into the city's biggest wintertime event. The snowman contest required groups of two to participate, and Joker had the balls to claim that his partner was Batman. He'd also threatened to blow up a school if Bruce had said no. So now here he was, in his batsuit with a registration number pinned to his cape, surrounded by Gotham City's most dangerous residents. The creepiest thing was that no one was cheating or even trying any sort of underhanded tricks. The tense atmosphere was so heavy that Bruce could've sworn it was weighing him down. At least Bruce was here and fully equipped to handle any spurts of chaos that might erupt from this terrible idea.

Joker, on the other hand, appeared to be having the time of his life. He was giggling and cracking jokes with all the vigor of a seven-year-old hyped up on pixie sticks and Mountain Dew. It was… taxing, to say the least. Bruce watched the other man mold the snow into a decently respectable figure, his gloved hands patting the snow down into place. It felt almost pleasant to be watching Joker do something so innocent. Bruce huffed, turning away. This situation required vigilance, not absent-minded daydreaming about _literally_ your worst enemy.

Bruce cast a glance about the large clearing that had been made in the park for this contest. Harley and Ivy were busy trying to make what looked like a giant snow-teddy bear (most likely Harley's idea). Bruce had to admit that there was a certain charm to the teddy bear's lopsided face. Harley had leaned over to kiss Ivy on the cheek, and Bruce decided that even career criminals deserved some privacy. He cast his gaze around the clearing, scoping out everyone else's progression. The two women were certainly doing much better than Mr. Freeze and Cobblepot (which Bruce found both amusing and surprising). Freeze and Cobblepot's snowman looked like an unfortunate accident between a goblin shark and the rear end of an elephant. Bruce still couldn't figure out where the snowman's head was supposed to be, no matter how Bruce had tilted his head.

So far, the best snowman belonged to Nygma and Crane, a fact that Bruce found a bit unsurprising. The snowman in question was rather well-built: it was a rendition of Michelangelo’s David, except that he was carved with Scarecrow's mask and a ring of question marks obscuring his genitals and buttocks. Bruce was actually kind of amazed that Nygma hadn't tried to make their snowman a riddle.

As the billionaire watched the two supervillains, he noticed that Nygma (who still managed to find a bright green parka that was rivalling the gaudiness of Joker's outfit) tried to reach out for Crane's hand with one gloved hand. Crane held on for a couple moments before feeling Bruce's eyes on the back of his neck, at which point he pulled back from Nygma's touch, seemingly flustered. Nygma began to complain about the loss of contact, and Bruce turned his attentions elsewhere. Batman was many things, but being a voyeur to a lovers' spat was not one of those things.

Partway into watching Bane and Tetch's (rather one-sided) argument over what kind of snowman they should build in the first place, Bruce felt a hand thump him hard on the back. He whirled, his arm raised high, batarang ready. Joker reeled back, a friendly smile on his red lips. “Relax, Bats!” The clown let out a chuckle. “You might hurt someone with all your fancy toys~”

Bruce snorted. “What is it, Joker?” He lowered his arm, but still kept the batarang firmly held in his hand. If he wasn't prepared, he probably wouldn't have stayed around as long as he did.

Joker cast a slow gaze up and down Bruce's body, and Bruce had to physically stop himself from squirming beneath the clown's gaze. Joker snapped his head back up so that he was looking at Bruce dead in the eyes. The madman gestured to the unfinished snowman. “Bats, I thought we were _partners_ ,” Joker whined, frowning. “Aren't you going to help me even a little itty bitty bit?” Bruce sighed inwardly, shoving his way past his arch-nemesis as he turned a critical eye on the half-formed lump of snow. Bruce tilted his head side to side, trying to piece together what the hell Joker was even _trying_ to make, and for all of Bruce's intelligence, he just couldn't figure out what the lump of snow was supposed to be. So, he took his batarang and stuck it into the snow randomly, letting it stick out haphazardly. Joker let out a snort of laughter. “Perfect,” he muttered.

 

As it turned out, Joker had carved a giant replica of Gotham City, Wayne Tower and all. Bruce's one contribution, the batarang, was stuck in the roof of the GCPD building. The judges (Dr. Strange, Selina, and Dick, surprisingly) had found the snow sculpture rather charming, and were about to give Joker and Bruce their scores when Joker raised on foot and slammed it back down, crushing the Arkham Asylum replica with vigor (a move that earned him several cheers from the other criminals). He proceeded to stomp around on his own snow sculpture, mimicking the screams of innocent bystanders, Godzilla style. Bruce sighed. He should've known.

In the aftermath of the contest, Bane and Tetch had ended up stealing the snow with a giant snow-house that looked like it came right out of a fairy tale book. Nygma had gotten into an argument with Strange over the results and Bruce and Dick ended up having to restrain the two supervillains before things got out of hand, which led to the other criminals attacking as well, and Bruce and Dick had made it out by the skin of their teeth. Thankfully, the GCPD had been there to assist them, but Joker had managed to shake off the cops pursuing him. He'd disappeared into the night after that.

The nest night, Bruce had gone back to the clearing to survey the damage. He bristled when he found Joker there, a purple and green present in his arms. Joker turned to Bruce, grinning widely, the moonlight framing his pale face and green hair in a way that made him look even more out-of-this world than usual. Bruce felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight, then reminded himself to not make a fool out of himself. Joker didn’t seem to notice Bruce's moral quandary.

“Hey, Bats, I got you a present!” Joker held out the box, his grin as kindly as a hungry wolf's. When Bruce didn't take the present, Joker continued talking. “It's for your help yesterday.” Bruce didn't reach out, and he quickly realized that if he didn't take the present, they'd be here all night. Bruce sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He took the box gingerly from Joker. He took a good, long look at the box: standard-issue purple wrapping paper, a green bow that was tied very beautifully. Bruce glanced back up at the clown, who leaned forward, waiting for the billionaire to open up the box with bated breath. Bruce finally relented, opening the box with all the care in the world. Inside was a Bruce's batarang, spray-painted green and purple (of course). Even so, it was kind of nice od Joker to give it back. Okay, it was very nice. And the proper thing to do was thank the madman, but by the time Bruce had looked up from the box, Joker was gone.

Bruce wouldn't admit it to anyone (least of all himself), but he was already starting to miss that clown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I done. This felt really cracktastic.


	8. Christmas Shopping

Let it never be said that Joker held back in anything, including Christmas shopping. Bruce had warned him earlier that day not to kill or hurt anyone, and Joker just so happened to be receptive to his boyfriend's instructions today, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some _fun_.

  
And so here he was, in the back isles of the toy section as parents and grandparents stampeded around him, trampling each other for all the newest and most expensive toys, like the Furby Connect. Joker sighed through his nose. He may be a ruthless killer who caused all this bloodshed just for his own amusement, but even _he_ found the Furbies a bit too odd. He'd really have to meet their creator if he could; they'd probably have to most wonderful conversation. But, enough about planning for the future: Joker had a wish list to fill. The clown scoffed as he pulled out a crumpled and torn piece of paper. He got to shop for the little bat brat Damian. He scoffed. There  _had_ to be better things for a vacationing supercriminal to do than buy presents for his boyfriend's kid. Nevertheless, the presents wouldn't buy themselves. At least Damian was a simple kid: he just wanted some ninja stars, a sword, and Mortal Combat 10. Yeesh. Damian wssn't even twelve yet. What was he doing, asking for  _such_ a violent video game? As Joker pondered this riddle that would've stumped even Eddie, he casually tossed a lit matchstick onto a display of Barbie dollhouses. It just so happened that he'd left a kerosene-soaked strip of cloth on the display of dollhouses. Oopsie.

Joker cackled as he headed for the tools section, the display of Barbie houses stacked on top of each other blowing up high into the air. The melting plastic debris rained back down, flames clinging to their liquefying forms. He could hear the screams of the general populace behind him, something that certainly put a spring in his step. ‘Tis the season for a good ol’ prank. Bruce would have nothing to do with killing or harming civilians, but Joker still had so many other opportunities open to him.

  
Suddenly, Joker felt a familiar hand grab him roughly by the arm and yank him backwards. The clown stumbled over his feet, crashing into a large chest that he knew very well, and yet still wanted to explore, maybe later on tonight. Nevertheless, Joker cast his acidic green eyes up, his gaze meeting two sharp cerulean eyes. He grinned up at his boyfriend, who let out a heavy sigh. “Joker,” the billionaire grumbled, “What did I say about causing havoc today?”

  
Joker simpered at his lover ingratiatingly, making Bruce sigh once more. “You know, Bats,” Joker giggled. “They say for every sigh you let out, you lose some of your life.”

  
Bruce rolled his eyes, his grip on Joker’s arm still stronger than iron. Jeez, easy on the goods, Bruce, unless you like Joker covered in bruises. Joker thought about it for a moment, his lips stretching back once more into one of his signature smiles. BDSM would certainly be a fun thing to try out. Joker was brought back out of his fantasyworld by Bruce’s voice. “Joker, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, that if you want to go shopping with me, you’ve got to wear a disguise. And if you go and blow up children’s toys—“

  
“People’ll notice me, yadda, yadda, yadda. I know, I know,” Joker tried to yank his arm out of Bruce’s vise-like grip, to no avail. Hmph. Bruce really was worried about his little stunt, wasn’t he? Joker looked back up at Bruce and traced one gloved hand along his lover's chin. He poked Bruce's cheek, and Bruce puffed it out, a reaction going on Joker's “Top 10 Cutest Brucie Moments” list. “Aww, sugar. There's no need to get your bat briefs all in a twist over little ol' me!” Bruce colored slightly at the “bat briefs” remark, but Joker continues on anyway. “And for that, I'm gonna get you a special present! And don't think it's from this sad excuse for a store (hell, I think I'll blow this place sky high later for their shit customer service). It's—“

  
“You're going to behave?” Bruce asked a little too quickly, his expression caught between hope and surprise.

  
Joker pouted. “Oh, sure, spoil the surprise for yourself. I even had a whole dance number planned!” Bruce laughed at that remark, and Joker entwined his hand with Bruce's. “But fine, I'll behave.” Joker may have lost this battle, but he didn't feel particularly angry over it. The two men stood, holding hands as the Christmas crowds scurried about, a calm center in the middle of a seasonal storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. This turned out fluffier than I was planning. Also, shout-out to Mochi_Tan for being inspirational and an adorable cinnamon roll. You guys should check out her Hetalia fic Emerald Woods, it very well-written! (Totally not advertising)


	9. Christmas Carols and a Roaring Fire

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there's just one thing I neeeeed…” Bruce started out of his half-dreaming state, and he let out a groan of irritation. Joker just _had_ to swing by his house and sing Christmas carols, and right as Bruce was about to fall into a deep sleep, too. He was regretting giving his address to the clown. Bruce turned to check the rather expensive alarm clock that sat on the edge of his bedside end table: it was nearly 5:25 in the morning.

The billionaire rubbed his face with one hand as he rose out of his bed, pushing the covers to the floor with no concern for having to pull them back onto the bed in the near future. Bruce quietly slipped on the Pikachu fuzzy slippers that Clark had given him last Christmas. He crossed his room, headed for the balcony doors despite not wearing anything else but his boxers. Usually, Bruce would be more concerned with decorum, but the clown had seen him in less clothing before, so he saw nothing wrong with what his current attire consisted of. Besides, he was far too tired after chasing Two-Face around the entire city earlier that morning. So Bruce reached for the balcony door handle and yanked the door open, and he was met with a freezing wind that nearly knocked him off of his feet. _Riiiiight_. In Bruce's exhaustion and haste to get Joker to get the hell off of his property, he'd forgotten that it was the middle of winter. Bruce quickly shut the balcony doors and grabbed his bedsheets to wrap around himself before endeavoring to go back outside. At least he was wide awake now.

Bruce yanked the balcony door nearly off of its hinges, his lack of sleep sharpening his irritation. Bruce gingerly stepped onto the balcony, hissing as the cold mush of snow settled into the bottoms of his slippers. Well, there was no going back now. Hopefully this will all be over in a blessedly short amount of time. Once Bruce reached the edge of his balcony, he adjusted the bedsheets below him so that he'd be standing on top of the cloth. It wasn't much in ways of protecting Bruce from the icy snow, but it was better than nothing. The billionaire leaned over the side of the railing, searching for a familiar flash of bright green hair. Finally, he spotted the madman almost directly beneath him. Bruce was suddenly gripped by an urge to smooth down his hair and make himself look more presentable, and he just managed to stifle the urge. It was a ridiculous thing to be worried about; judging by the way Joker huddled against the freezing temperatures in his usual attire (how many times had Bruce bought Joker jackets that he'd practically pleaded the other man to wear when he decided to head out into weather like this?), Bruce's hair was probably very low on Joker's list of priorities.

Once the green-haired clown felt the presence of his beau, he turned, extending his arms out wide in a greeting. Bruce was both amazed and unnerved by Joker's seemingly supernatural ability to sense his presence, but Bruce just chalked it up to being another one of Joker's many peculiarities. At least, it was something to both admire and ponder when he was bored. Bruce focused back in on the present situation.

“What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Bruce, the sun,” Joker yelled up at the billionaire, who rolled his eyes despite the clown not being able to fully appreciate Bruce's reaction. Gotta hand it to the Joker: he always had a flair for the dramatic.

“What do you want, Joker? You've been singing outside of my window for the past ten minutes.” Bruce had meant to sound cordial or at least tolerant, but he came off as more irritated than he really was. As it stood, he accidentally lowered his voice to a guttural growl that suited Batman more than it did himself. The clown, however, didn't seem to mind or care all that much, and he stood entrenched in snow in his silk suit, chest puffed out as if he was about to win an award.

“Why, sugar,” Joker placed a hand gently over his heart, as if offended that Bruce thought he'd want anything else. “All I want for Christmas is you!” Joker finished his sentence with a laugh, making himself sound more insincere than usual. Joker held up one finger, and continued raising them as he rattled off more of his wish list. “Well, Gotham City, the death of innocent civilians, and a pretty Pegasus are also on my list,” Joker snickered, “But such a naughty boy like me can't be too greedy, can he?” Bruce huffed, his breath coming out in a visible mist.

“Joker,” Bruce muttered, just barely loud enough for Joker to hear. Bruce took a breath of the fresh, if cold, early morning air. He prepared his speech expounding the virtues of not murdering people at random, but he was interrupted in the formation of his monologue when he realized Joker no longer was below him. Bruce leaned over the railing, scrambling to locate the clown once more, his face drawing down in an expression of worry. What if the man froze to death? As much as Joker liked to claim that he was nigh invincible, even Bruce knew that the cold could affect the clown. Just last week, Bruce had left the Bat cave, all suited up and ready to go head-to-head with Gotham City's worst criminals, when he found Joker collapsed in the driveway. The billionaire had been so spooked that he feared he was going to pass out at the time. Bruce had approached Joker and picked up his limp form. Bruce could still feel how cold Joker had been if he concentrated hard enough.

However, Bruce's fears were quickly dispelled as the billionaire heard a slew of curse words off to the left of his current location. The billionaire turned and glanced down at the wall and found Joker attempting to scale the brick wall. Bruce had to say, Joker was doing pretty good on his own. By the time Bruce had relocated him, Joker was close to the balcony. The billionaire held out a hand that Joker gladly took, and he helped lift his lover up and over the balcony railing. The clown muttered out a “thanks, Brucie” as he dusted the snow off of his clothes as best he could. The billionaire let his lover reorganize himself as he attempted to smooth down his cowlicks. It wasn't working particularly well. Now he was wishing that he'd just followed his instinctual wishes earlier and flattened down his hair. Here he was, with Joker merely a few feet away, and he looked like his hair had been trapped in a blender. _Good_.

The billionaire reprioritized and quickly shoved all thoughts of his own appearance aside, zeroing in on the real question he wanted to ask: “Why are you on my property?”

Joker let out an airy chuckle. “Hey, if you didn’t want me here, you didn’t have to help me climb your wall.” The clown did… have a point. The billionaire hung his head in defeat, and Joker let out another laugh. He patted Bruce on the shoulder, his hand bitingly cold even through the bedsheets. “Hey, let’s try and turn that frown upside down!” Joker swung an arm around Bruce’s shoulders, guiding him back into his own bedroom. Joker began telling the billionaire a story about what happened at the Iceberg Lounge a few hours ago, and the pair arrived in front of the giant fireplace that Bruce almost never used because indoor heating had been invented. Joker began rifling through the various pockets of his coat, managing to pull out a box of matches. It always seemed as if the clown had some sort of dangerous object on his person. Bruce busied himself by gathering some chopped firewood from a nearby stack that had been replenished just this morning. Together, the pair managed to get a roaring fire started, and Joker grabbed Bruce’s hand, dragging him almost dangerously close to the fireplace. Bruce pulled back the bedsheets and engulfed the clown in a giant bear hug, letting the blankets nearly swallow Joker whole. Bruce’s face softened—the other man was _freezing_. Bruce buried his face in the crook between Joker’s neck and shoulders, and he felt the other man slowly melt into the touch. The billionaire inhaled the scent of cologne a few hours old and smoke. God, he’d never tire of that smell.

As the two huddled by the fire, Joker began humming, and soon enough, he was blowing through all sorts of Christmas classics, belting out the lyrics with zeal. Bruce had protested at first, but he eventually let Joker win, and he was almost tempted to sing along. Joker sang his own renditions of “Santa Baby,” “Jingle Bells,” and even “Joy to the World.” Bruce could feel the man in his arms slowly warming up, and he had to admit that winter really was a wonderful time of year.


	10. Snow Angels

“I highly doubt that that’s how you make snow angels,” Bruce muttered as he stared at the heap of explosives in the snow. Joker gripped a remote in one hand, his displeasure with Bruce’s statement quite evident. Joker let out a long, loud sigh as he tossed the remote over his shoulder. Bruce just barely caught the remote before it landed button-first, and he shot the clown a pointed glare. The madman just ignored him, turning around and landing on his back in the snow.

  
“Fine, then, Bats, how do you suggest we make snowmen?” Joker spread himself out on the snow mound, lifting his hips slightly and giving Bruce the most seductive gaze he'd ever seen. He wondered briefly if Joker even understood just how sexy he looked, splayed out on the snow, practically begging the billionaire to come on down and demonstrate how hard he could go.

  
Bruce began to shrug off his jacket, and Joker let out an appreciative growl as Bruce continued trying to unbutton his jeans. “Come here,” Bruce ordered. “I'll show you the right way of making a snow angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was pretty short. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, though.


	11. Hallmark and Chill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. Just managed to squeeze this chapter in today. I'll try to post earlier tomorrow. Also, thanks again to Mochi-Tan for the idea of Bruce and Joker watching the Hallmark channel around Christmastime!

“’I'm sorry, Brenda, but you've been diagnosed with…’” Right before the good doctor could inform Brenda of just what kind of disease she had, the program cut to a commercial break. As the TV flashed with images of various toys and electronics on sale, Bruce groaned and ran a hand through his messy black hair. He quickly glanced at the clock: it was a little over forty-fiver minutes ‘til midnight. He'd just spent a little over four hours watching Christmas movie after Christmas movie with his arch-nemesis-turned-lover, the Joker. At least he could cross _that_ off of his bucket list.

  
Joker shifted from his position next to Bruce, tugging the blankets they'd taken from Bruce's bed closer to his skinny frame. They were almost cuddling, but they still felt the need to look platonic, even though both Alfred and Dick knew about the two men's relationship. Bruce had felt a rush of excitement course through his veins earlier that night; it was like bringing home a friend from school and hoping that no one noticed when you started getting a little too “cozy” with them. Except the friend was one of the most wanted men in Gotham City. Oops. Bruce made up for the change in position by scooting closer and laying his head on Joker's angular shoulder. Friends did that sort of thing, right? Right.

  
Joker reached lazily for the remote, and when he couldn't reach it without moving from his spot, he gave up. Instead, the clown leaned towards Bruce, allowing the billionaire to catch a whiff of the cologne Joker had bought ~~more like stolen~~ just for tonight. “You know,” Joker started. “This movie could use a little more… chaos. Wouldn't you say?” The clown gestured lazily at the TV, his green nail polish standing out against his stark white skin. “An explosion here, maybe a murder there, or at least a mugging.”

  
Bruce rolled his eyes for what felt like the umpteenth time that night as he nuzzled against the crook of Joker's neck. “The main character's already got some sort of disease. Besides, this is a Christmas movie, not a Saw movie.”

  
Joker snorted. “At least Saw's a little more interesting.” Nevertheless, Joker began running one long hand through Bruce's hair, smoothing out any knots he'd found. Bruce purred softly, at which Joker let out a chuckle that almost made his whole body vibrate. It was a wonderful feeling. Bruce brought his head down a bit lower, placing one ear over where Joker's heart was, and he heard the familiar _lub-dub_ , even if it was a bit quicker than usual. It was almost uncanny to hear something so human coming from the Joker. Even his laughs and his moans had this supernatural and animalistic quality to them. The fact that the clown had a pretty much normal heartbeat both intrigued and spooked Bruce. Joker continued to stroke Bruce's hair, and Bruce responded by placing a trail of kisses along Joker's exposed chest, up and down along his sternum. Joker's skin was cool, a nice, biting contrast to the heat of Bruce's lips, and something that Bruce kept wanting to experience again and again. “Your movie's starting up again, Brucie,” Joker murmured.

  
“I'm doing something more important right now” was all Bruce could say as he continued trailing quick pecks along the almost harsh edges of Joker's body. All the clown could say or do in reply was let out a soft laugh that quickly turned into a moan. Bruce loved it when the other man did that. Reaching up for the collar of Joker's robe, the billionaire pulled and began revealing more of Joker's skin. Bruce threw away the pretension of just kissing the clown now and just began full-on licking him, enjoying the taste of salt on his tongue. Judging from the noises Joker was making, he, too, was finding Bruce's affections far more stimulating than the movie.

  
Bruce suddenly heard the sound of Alfred clearing his throat, and he froze, blushing madly like a teenager. The billionaire turned, praying to God that the dark was hiding how red he was right now. Alfred merely raised one eyebrow, setting down a bowl of popcorn. “I've just come to refill your popcorn, Master Wayne. Don't feel the need to stop for me,” the old butler said as he retreated out of the room. “Believe me when I say that I've seen you in far more compromising positions.”

  
Bruce couldn't help but feel completely horrified for the rest of his movie, Joker's laughter at the whole incident still ringing in his ears.


	12. The Best Ride to Work

Lucius Fox has seen many things over the years. Working for Batman, after all, wasn’t the most orthodox position. He had to say, though, that today was just one of those days that he was gonna have to take a rain check on just how much bullshit he was willing to put up with.

  
There Bruce Wayne sat, mounted atop a reindeer. A. Fucking. _Reindeer_. The saddle was made of expensive mahogany-colored leather, and there were jingle bells and streams of tinsel everywhere. Bruce even had the gall to wear a Santa suit and carry around a giant burlap knapsack that was fit to burst with some thing that Lucius just couldn't name. If there was just one good thing to day about the whole mess, it was that the man who was riding with Bruce was having fun. His hair and face was covered in one of those creepy elf masks sold in party favor stores, and while he wore outlandishly garish purples and oranges, Lucius couldn’t the life of him name who that man was. Then the man started throwing glitter bombs everywhere, and Bruce couldn't have looked happier. Lucius was overcome with the urge to put his head in his hands, and he would've if he wasn't holding a mug of coffee in one hand and balancing a stack of files in the other.

  
It was going to be a hell of a mess to clean up, and all Lucius could think of was that he felt immense pity for the janitors of Wayne Enterprises. He knew Bruce had to keep up the illusion of being a billionaire playboy who didn't care about the events of the world around him, but _this_! This was going just a bit (okay, a _lot_ ) overboard.

  
Lucius could feel himself choke on his coffee, and he was aware, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind that withstood the shell-shock of seeing an actual reindeer, that his coffee was hot, and was starting to spill onto his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was far more subtle about the BatJokes ship. I liked it as it was, but I doubted that anyone in Gotham City would've been okay with Joker just straight-up being with Bruce Wayne at all. Ehhh. I just like the image of Bruce and Joker riding around on a reindeer.


	13. Christmas Decorating

“I’m losing the feeling in my legs.” Bruce should’ve known that allowing Joker free reign in anything was going to result in a complete and utter disaster. The billionaire glanced down at the tangle of Christmas lights that was currently cutting off the oxygen flow to his legs, and he sighed internally. He considered calling for Alfred, and he could already imagine the intensely unimpressed stare Alfred would present him with. Then Bruce decided against doing that completely. This was a trust exercise, he could feel it. He had to _believe_ that Joker would let his blood circulate again. Eventually.

  
Joker continued circling Bruce, hanging ornaments and strings of tinsel all over Bruce's body. The billionaire never knew there were so many places you could attach a Christmas glass ornament to. Joker clicked his tongue derisively as he tugged sharply on one line of Christmas lights. Bruce immediately felt the blood rush into his legs, along with that particularly irritating feeling of itchy tingle pain that was nearly impossible to not think about. Good thing Bruce had trained himself in the art of maintaining his willpower in the face of any predicament. So, the billionaire distracted himself by asking a different but also important question: “Why don't you hang all of this stuff on something that isn't me?”

  
Joker gave Bruce a look that could’ve curdled milk and continued on in his quest to make Bruce the most garishly decorated thing in the room. Finally, Joker spoke. “I don't think anything in this entire house deserves as much Christmas spirit as you do.” The clown was carefully avoiding eye contact, but Bruce didn't miss the soft smile and the red tinge to the other man's cheeks. Bruce decided in that moment that Joker could put as many decorations on him as they owned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! Also, feel free to comment with any constructive criticism or positive feedback!


	14. Ugly Christmas Sweaters

Love did crazy things to the mind. Love forced any other thoughts onto the backburner. It made the worst ideas seem plausible, and, given enough freedom, love could also take all logic and common sense and throw them out the window. At least, that was the flowery excuse that Joker kept repeating to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

  
He wore a hideously ugly electric yellow sweater that clashed miserably with his purple slacks. Now, Joker was all for bright colors, but there was a point where what you wore began to overpower the rest of your senses. This sweater was at that point. The stuffed reindeer that was stitched to the sweater was a nice touch, though.

  
Joker gathered together what remained of his courage and exited the changing room. He held out his arms so that his boyfriend, Bruce Wayne (ha, and his mother said he's never find a good lover!) could see his outfit in all of its garish glory. His shopping buddy grinned widely, showing off that megawatt smile that nearly earned him the title of “Gotham City's Prince” all on its own. “I knew yellow was your color.” The clown scoffed as he lowered his arms, putting his hands on his hips.

  
“And what about green and purple?” the clown asked, his voice nearly monotone as he focused more effort into getting the sweater to drape itself across his body in a more flattering way.

  
The playboy chuckled, holding his hands up as if in surrender. “Fine, fine, you win this round,” he confessed dramatically.

  
Joker grinned back at the other man. “Whelp, we can't forget about getting you a fucking awful Christmas sweater!” The playboy blanched, and the clown made sure to take a picture of the other man's expression so that he could torment Bruce about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any remarks you have in the comments section, and I'll be sure to check them out. Also, hooray for semester final exams! *intense coughing fit of extreme anguish*


	15. Gift Exchange

“Bats! Just the hero I've been looking for!” Joker sauntered over towards Bruce, his arms outstretched as if expecting a hug. Bruce snorted, pulling his cape around himself and giving off an aura that screamed _touch me and I’ll punch you_. When the clown saw his reaction, his usual smile fell into an exaggerated pout (then again, was there any part of the Joker that _wasn't_ over-the-top?). “Bats,” Joker drawled, “We've known each other for ten years, and I don't even get a hug?” The clown placed a hand over his heart, the other fluttering up over his forehead. “I'm hurt!”

  
Bruce decided not to react to that statement, his fingers tightening its grip on his cape. The vigilante was starting to feel like a child about to present a project in front of a group of adults, and he couldn't, for all of his intelligence, figure out why. It wasn't like Joker had never acted dramatically before. In fact, Bruce was so used to Joker's over-the-top attitude that he would've been more surprised if the clown hadn't been acting up. Even so, Bruce still couldn't shake the anxiety, and he forced himself to focus on taking deep breaths. In his frazzled state of mind, he nearly missed what Joker said next.

  
Proffering a small box from his purple coat, Joker beamed. “You may not wanna give me my hug, Batsy, but that doesn't mean I can't spread the joy of Christmas!” The clown held the wrapped box in front of Bruce's face, the present obnoxiously close. Bruce eyed the present warily, deciding to follow the course of logic. There was no way in hell that he was opening a present from Gotham City's most notorious criminal. Bruce tore his gaze from the present so that he could give Joker the most skeptical gaze he could muster—

  
When he noticed that the clown was frowning once more. And it wasn’t even an act; as far as Bruce could tell (and he liked to consider himself a good judge of Joker's emotions), Joker was actually getting upset that Bruce wasn't accepting the rather poorly-wrapped present. If Bruce wasn't panicking before, he sure as hell was now. There were a million thoughts speeding through his head—what if Joker retaliated for Bruce not accepting his present, what if this was all just an act and Bruce just thought it was genuine because he was feeling out of sorts? But the most pressing thought in his mind was that he wanted Joker to be anything but sad. If it was anyone else, Bruce would've felt something akin to being heartbroken. Bruce made a mental note to visit a therapist later on. The tension dragged on at an excruciating pace, and Bruce decided to make up an excuse on the spot: “I don't have anything to give you in return.”

  
Joker snapped out of his pitiful state of melancholy, his jaw opening and closing in shock. Bruce was slightly amused by the fact that Joker was, for once, speechless. After another moment of wordless mouth movements, Joker began babbling, shoving the present at Bruce's Kevlar-bound chest. “Well, Bats, that's--There's no need—Was that a joke? It was an awful joke. You don't have to—you’re just—“ The clown ran one gloved hand through his bright green hair, sending his locks sticking out every which way. Bruce felt his heart warm at the sight as his anxiety neared its boiling point.

It took all of his willpower to stop himself from shaking. Finally, the clown managed to get himself back in control, his signature smile returning to his lips. “Well, Bats, what's a free gift between friends?” He held the present before him. “Merry Christmas, Batsy.”  
Bruce hesitantly reached for the present, grabbing onto the green bow. Joker nodded with vigor, encouraging Bruce to open the present. Gathering up his courage, Bruce gingerly opened the present, and once he saw what was inside, Bruce could feel his blood rushing up to his face. Bruce slowly lifted the object out of the box. “What… is this?” Bruce felt his stomach tighten.  
Joker laughed nervously, running his hand through his hair once more.

“They're handcuffs, Bats.” Bruce shot a glare at the clown, taking note of Jokers reddening cheeks. So even the Clown Prince of Crime had some decency. Bruce took another look at the handcuffs, which seemed to be the least intimidating pair in the world, what with the fuzzy cheetah print motif. He briefly wondered where the hell Joker got the fetish cuffs, then decided immediately that there were some things better left unknown. “They're to replace the ones I broke last night.”

  
Bruce felt himself blush brightly once more. He knew Joker didn't mean it (probably), but that didn't make the innuendo any less ambiguously sexual. Joker began to laugh and point at Bruce's expression and Bruce reminded himself that Joker had just given him a present, and it would be rude to punch the clown in the face. Instead, Bruce hastily shoved the handcuffs back into the box and tucked it under his arm. The faster he could hide it in the Batmobile, the safer everyone would be. Joker stared at Bruce expectantly, and just to get the conversation going, Bruce said, “Well, I've got to get you something now, so I'll just go and—“

  
Joker held up a hand, grinning like mad. “No need, no need. Although…” At this, Joker leaned towards Bruce. “If you really wanted to give me something, a kiss would be nice.”

  
Bruce would like to say that he came up with a sassy comeback, but reality had other ideas. Instead, Bruce flushed red, and the churning in his stomach began to exceed his limits. Just what the hell was he so nervous over, anyway? He was the fucking Batman, for god's sake! He felt like a high school girl talking to her crush--

  
Oh.

  
_Oh_.

  
Not. Good.

  
Joker noticed Bruce's hesitation, and he rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “Fine, Bats, you prude. I'll find something else you could give me. Hey, some dynamite sounds good this time of—“

  
Bruce shoved all of his anxieties away, deciding that getting Joker to shut up for five seconds sounded good right now. So, his heart racing in equal parts excitement and agitation, Bruce pulled Joker into a deep kiss. After a moment, Bruce pulled back, smirking at Joker's quickly reddening face. “Merry Christmas to you too, Joker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, another chapter out! Also, ten days 'til Christmas! All aboard the hype train!


	16. Wrapping Presents

Joker gripped the scissors so hard that his knuckles would’ve turned white if they weren’t that color already. With all the concentration of a surgeon performing a risky operation, Joker snipped through the paper, careful to make a straight, clean cut. Satisfied with his handiwork, joker lifted the wrapping paper high into the air, admiring his own precision. The person-shaped outline was a nice touch. The clown felt his lips stretch into a wide grin rivalling the Cheshire cat’s. Unable to hold it back any longer, Joker let out a maniacal laugh.

 

Time to wrap the present.

 

Joker jammed the scissors into his pants pocket; he was going to need those later. Tucking a roll of duct tape and the wrapping paper under his arm, Joker went off to continue on with his plan.

 

 

Bruce pulled into the garage of his penthouse, exhausted from the Christmas party he’d just left. There was something to say about office parties, and the word “fun” wasn’t one of them. At least Lucius was there to talk to. Even so, all the smiling and socializing became grating after a while, and the gift exchange was so awkward and forced.

 

Bruce sighed, putting his car into park as he yawned. Glancing at the built-in clock in his car, Bruce calculated that he had enough time for a quick nap before having to head out as Batman. The billionaire hastened out of his car, fishing for his keys in his thick overcoat. Bruce kept his hand in his pocket as he hurried to the elevator and headed straight up to the top floor. Exiting the elevator, the billionaire walked briskly towards the door separating him from his apartment, and, by extension, his gloriously soft bed. Bruce quickly unlocked the front door, stepping inside just as snow began to fall from the sky outside.

 

Once he was past the front door, Bruce locked it and leaned against its sturdy wooden frame. Bruce breathed in deeply, his penthouse blessedly quiet. The billionaire quickly shrugged off his heavy coat, moving to turn the lights on when he sensed something was… off. Bruce silently stalked over to the dining room, laying his overcoat on the mahogany table as he fell into a defensive posture. The billionaire crept around his own penthouse, coming across a wide-open window. Bruce softly shut it before any more snow could blow in, and he entered the living room, grabbing a spare batarang that was hidden among the dusty tomes collected on the bookshelf.

 

After a while, Bruce had checked every single room to his satisfaction, except for his bedroom. Gripping the batarang hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Bruce approached the door to his room, silent as the night. As he approached the door, the billionaire slid along the wall, making himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Finally, he’d reached the door, and Bruce swiftly shoved the door open as he tumbled in, arm cradling the batarang raised high.

 

After a moment of eerie silence, Bruce heard a very familiar laugh, and the crunch of paper being crumpled. Bruce stood, his posture relaxing as he groaned out loud. “Joker,” Bruce called out as he turned on the light switch. “Why can’t you just knock on the door or something like a regular person?” Bruce turned his attention to Joker’s direction, surprised by what he found.

 

Joker had wrapped himself from head to toe in the gaudiest wrapping paper Bruce had ever been unfortunate enough to witness. He’d only left enough space for his face to peer out from behind the wrapping paper. The clown had duct-taped everything shut, and a pair of scissors was lying on the end table next to the bed. Joker even went so far as to tie a giant orange bow to his bright green hair. Joker raised one eyebrow at Bruce’s surprise, his grin becoming terribly wicked. “Well?” The clown cooed, batting his eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to unwrap you present already, Bats?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for the first day of Christmas break (at least for me)! Now I have more time to do important things, like stare at the wall while contemplating life decisions. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know your opinion in the comments, if you'd like!


	17. Baking Christmas Cookies

“You know, Bats, I don’t think the recipe mentions cinnamon anywhere.” Bruce glanced up from the bowl of cookie mixture that he was currently whisking, a light coating of flour covering his left cheek. He was so adorable when he was like this, and Joker couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. Bruce merely sighed, watching as the whisk sank into the bowl. He and Joker weren't cut out for this whole “cooking” business.

  
Shrugging his shoulders, Bruce turned back to the bowl, muttering “A little cinnamon never hurt anybody.” Joker snorted, leaning against the kitchen counter as he scrolled through the cooking recipe on his phone. Bruce continued whisking the cookie mix, perhaps a bit _too_ hard. Unbaked cookie dough began to fly out of the bowl, and the billionaire had to focus on not breaking the bowl or the whisk by accident. Bruce was so distracted by his own baking problems that he almost missed the scent of something burning. “Joker,” Bruce murmured, his face contorting in confusion. “Something's burning, isn't it?”

  
Jokers gaze flew up from his phone, his expression clearly one of surprise. “Aw, shit,” the clown muttered as he tossed his phone haphazardly onto the marble counter. Grabbing a pair of oven mitts, Joker rushed at the oven, a string of curses flying from his red lips. Smoke was beginning to leak out from behind the oven door, and when Joker grabbed the handle and yanked the stainless steel door down, a plume of smoke escaped from the oven. Joker began coughing, waving his arms around in the hopes that the smoke would dissipate, and Bruce dropped the bowl, rushing over to try and help his boyfriend. The bowl crashed against another bowl filled with egg yolks, causing a chain reaction that ended with the eggs yolks ending up on the floor and nearly two-thirds of a bag of flour spilling into the bowl of half-mixed cookie dough.

  
The smoke from the oven finally began to dissipate, but a few tendrils of the smoke curled up into the ceiling, setting off the fire alarm, which in turn set off the ceiling's built-in sprinkler system. Water began to rain down on the clown and the billionaire. Joker leaned over to glance into the oven, his hair sopping wet by then. The clown was greeted by a pan of chocolate chip cookies so thoroughly burnt that they were nearly solid chunks of charcoal. Scowling, the clown stood back up, shooting Bruce a glare for the record books. “Next time,” Joker proclaimed, slicking his damp green hair back. "Why don't we let good ol' Alfred do all of the cooking?"


	18. Mall Santa

“Alright, we’ve got the light saber and the plastic ninja stars,” Bruce crossed the two items off of Damian’s wishlist with a blue pen. Bruce turned to his shopping partner, raising an eyebrow. “So, what shall we buy next? Anything in particular you want, Joker?”

  
Joker leaned against the cart, practically sagging into it. He yawned, opening his mouth so widely that other people could very clearly see his wisdom teeth. Bruce rolled his eyes as he yanked the cart towards him, causing Joker to nearly drop to the floor. The clown shot him a dirty look before stretching, and Bruce winced slightly at the sound of Joker’s spine popping in multiple locations. Standing back up, the clown glanced lazily around at the aisles surrounding him, stocked to the ceiling with harmless toys (except for those damnable Lego blocks). Finally, Joker noticed, at the other end of the aisle, a Mall Santa sitting on a plastic chair that tried so hard to look like real wood. The Mall Santa was tall and skinny, and not a single child dared to go near him. Joker’s red lips split into a voracious grin, and the clown stalked over to the Santa, a giggle escaping from his throat. Bruce tried to hurry after his boyfriend but only succeeded in running into a haggard mother, knocking over a stack of toys in her cart.

  
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” The woman prodded Bruce’s chest, the exhaustion in her voice sharpening her anger. Bruce tried to glance around the woman, but she was having none of it. He was going to be stuck here for a while.

 

“Why, hellooooo, there, Santa,” Joker murmured, casting the Mall Santa with another one of his predatory grins. “Mind if I take a seat?” The Mall Santa glared up at the clown from behind his spectacles, but Joker waved his hand as if it would dispel the tense atmosphere. “A ‘course ya don’t, Saint Nick! What kind of idiot would refuse somebody like _me_?” And with that, Joker forcefully threw himself down on the Mall Santa’s lap, letting out a bark of laughter as a groan of pain escaped the Santa’s lips.

  
Joker gazed up at the Mall Santa expectantly, and after a beat of hesitation, Santa asked from between gritted teeth, “And just what do you _want_?” Joker stayed silent, his expression unchanging, and the Mall Santa rolled his eyes. “ _What_ do you _want_ , _child_?” The Mall Santa practically hissed the last few words out, his mounting annoyance very obvious.

  
But wait, didn’t Joker recognize that voice? The clown leaned closer to the Santa, scrutinizing the other man. Santa’s jaw clenched tightly, but besides that, his expression didn’t change. That composure, those eyes, that pleasantly irritated disposition… The truth finally dawned on Joker, and he felt himself grin as he blurted out, “Johnny?!”

  
The Santa let out a sigh, covering his face with one gloved hand. “Yes, Joker, it appears you’ve found me out.” Joker clapped happily, bouncing around like a small child, and it did nothing to improve the other man’s mood. Once the clown had settled back down, Jonathan did his best to appear jolly and Santa-ish, a plan that backfired miserably. He seemed even more intimidating than before, his blue eyes glowing coldly. Even so, Joker would not be cowed, not when such an opportunity to mess with someone presented itself so willingly. “Now, what is it that you want?”

  
Joker grinned. “Oh, you know, the usual, Scarecrow…” Jonathan winced at the clown’s use of his criminal alias, a fact that made Joker laugh out loud. “Gotham City on a silver platter would be a nice start. Maybe someone's dynamite, if I’ve been good.” Joker cast his gaze back up at Jonathan, who only stared coolly at him in response. The clown tapped his pale chin with one gloved hand, humming as he thought. The other super-criminal waited surprisingly patiently, earning himself a point in Joker’s book, although he shouldn’t be so surprised. After a while, Joker finished his list with “A unicorn Pegasus with a rainbow mane would also be appreciated.” The clown chortled, and Jonathan continued to appraise him. Even Joker had to admit that the former psychologist’s taciturn, surgical gaze could be a little…chafing at points. It wasn’t as charming as Bruce’s Batman glare, but it had a nice detached air about it.

  
“Is that all?” Jonathan inquired, his spectacles reflecting the fluorescent light of the store. Joker was overcome with this urge to say more. Maybe it was the Christmas air, maybe it was from those super shit tacos he had earlier, or maybe it was because he and Jonathan were pretty tolerant of each other (at least, as tolerant of each other as supervillains of Gotham City could be).

  
Joker leaned into Jonathan, who tensed slightly, but Joker ignored that. It’s not like the clown ever really cared about other people’s personal space, anyway. If he did, he’d have to rethink oh-so-many life decisions. After a moment of hesitation (something which piqued Jonathan's interest for sure), Joker whispered, “I wanna have a Merry Christmas with someone important.” The former psychologist followed the clown’s gaze over to a man who was busy trying to placate a very tired-looking woman. So the rumors were true; Joker was seeing Bruce Wayne.

  
Jonathan cast the clown a sideways glance, smirking slightly. “Has the Joker gone soft?”

  
Joker snorted, clambering off of Jonathan as he muttered, “At least I'm not working as a Mall Santa.”

  
The Master of Fear colored slightly at this. “Money's getting harder to come by.”

  
Joker waved merrily at the other man as he headed towards Bruce. “Yeah, yeah, Johnny. Merry Christmas to you and Eddie, too.” Jonathan raised one hand in a sort of salute as he straightened his fake beard. If he would stop being such a hard-ass, he could make a decent enough Santa.

 

Bruce finally managed to calm the woman down just as Joker came back, grinning ear to ear. Bruce raised an eyebrow at this. “Did Santa tell you what he got you for Christmas?”

  
Joker slung one arm around Bruce's shoulders. “Nah, I just saw an old friend of mine.” The billionaire made to ask Joker just what the hell he was going on about, but the clown silenced him with a quick peck to his lips. Joker pulled back, grinning lazily. “Now, what do you say we go out and get some hot chocolate together, get your blood all fired up for later?”

  
Bruce smiled back. “Only if you're the one warming me up.” He looped his arm around Joker's waist as he steered the cart towards the cashier, almost missing the small wave that his boyfriend offered the Mall Santa. Bruce shrugged, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. There would be enough time for any questions after the hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *noot noot* Another chapter out! Only another week before Christmas! Who's excited? I know I am!


	19. Gingerbrwad House

“Run, run, as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” The snow was beginning to blur Bruce’s line of sight, but there was absolutely no way that he was abandoning his chase for the Joker. He merely followed the lame Christmas taunts and the signature laughter, hoping he was still on the right track.

  
The two arch-nemeses leapt over the gaps between the roofs of the buildings beneath, their breaths coming out in small clouds of air. Bruce was still ready to run a few extra miles, but from the sound of Joker's increasingly ragged breathing, the clown was reaching the edge of his stamina. Bruce reached for the handcuffs stored away in his utility belt, his mouth hardening into a line. Joker had just escaped Arkham once again, and he hadn't done anything… yet. But Bruce was pretty sure that by this stage of their relationship, Joker didn't really deserve the benefit of the doubt.

  
The clown turned back to face his old foe, a grin plastered on his face despite his flagging strength. “Oh, Batsy baby,” Joker muttered. “You don't really think I'm done just yet, do you?” Joker let out a bark of laughter at that. “Please, Bats, I'm stronger than I look!” And with that, the clown reached into his purple coat and tossed a handful of razor-tipped Joker cards at Bruce, which flew straight at the vigilante's head. Bruce tumbled out of the way, nearly slamming against a skylight, and once he pulled himself back up, Joker had vanished off of the roof of the building.

The vigilante dashed to the edge of the roof, peering downwards to try and spot where the escaped supervillain had scampered off to—

  
Bruce spotted Joker's figure retreating into a life-size gingerbread house. He briefly wondered if Joker had managed to slip him some sort of hallucinogen while they were fighting earlier.

  
Leaping off of the ledge of the building, Bruce glided down and landed softly amongst the snow surrounding the gingerbread house. From this close distance, the smell of gingerbread was nearly overwhelming, and Bruce could clearly see that the house really was carved completely out of actual gingerbread. How the hell had Joker gotten a real gingerbread house built in the middle of Gotham City's main plaza? Eh. There were more pressing things to worry about.

  
Bruce decided that stealth would have to be sacrificed for speed for once, and he simply kicked down the front door, which snapped in half quite easily. There were no henchmen in sight, and once Bruce had used a scanner built into his cowl, he was able to confirm that no one was in here, besides Joker of course. So, Bruce simply made his way around the house, sidestepping life-size (and amazingly well-crafted) gingerbread furniture. The smell of gingerbread was starting to give Bruce a headache, and he hastened through the various rooms in order to get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible. Finally, Bruce found the room Joker was hiding in, and he made to sneak in somehow when he heard the clown say “Welcome, welcome! Step right on in!” Bruce sighed internally, squaring his shoulders as he threw the gingerbread door open.

  
What he found was Joker sitting snugly before a fake fireplace (complete with a fake gingerbread fire), wearing a plush robe over his wet purple suit. The clown simpered over at him, holding up a coffee mug. “Want some hot cocoa, Bats?”

  
Bruce simply stayed at the doorway, confused as all hell. Just what was Joker's game this time?

  
Joker shrugged nonchalantly, his face still beaming over at Bruce. “Oh, so you'd rather kiss little ol' me than have some of my special hot cocoa?” The clown let out a giggle, pointing at something above Bruce.

  
Bruce glanced up and found, hanging from the ceiling, a sprig of mistletoe that stood out against the brown of the gingerbread. Bruce let out a sigh. Sometimes, Joker made him feel far more tired than he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another chapter is up! Feel free to leave me any feedback you have!


	20. Igloo

When Bruce had arrived at the Batcave, it was almost dawn. He was exhausted, and his newest injuries protested at any sort of movement he made. So, he gingerly took off the batsuit, taking his time. Alfred had dressed his wounds, and Bruce thanked the older man before suggesting that Alfred go to bed. The butler had given him a concerned glance, but Bruce waved it off, half-joking that he’d had injuries far worse than these. It was true, but Bruce could see that it hadn’t alleviated Alfred’s worry at all. Nevertheless, the butler retreated back upstairs, leaving Bruce to his own devices.

 

Bruce spent a few more moments recuperating, drinking from the glass of water Alfred had left him. Alfred really was too good for him. Bruce checked his mental calendar; it was nearly Christmas. He’d have to make sure to get Alfred something this year.

 

Slowly, the billionaire clambered off of the examining table he’d been resting on, and he made his way up the stairs, out of the Batcave, and into the mansion. As Bruce made his way to his bedroom, he glanced out of the manor’s windows and watched the snow fall. There was something almost calming about the scene of snow falling upon Gotham City once more, and Bruce would’ve left it at that had he not noticed a strange shape in the yard. Bruce approached the window, trying to make out just what was in his yard. It was… an igloo? It might have been built by Dick, but something in the back of Bruce’s mind told him otherwise. So, Bruce rushed to the front door, grabbing a thick coat and slipping on some thick rain boots.

 

The billionaire hurried outside, pulling the coat closer to his body as he made his way through the snow, his injuries making their complaints heard. Finally, Bruce made it to the igloo, the freshly fallen snow in his hair quickly melting into his scalp, stinging his skin with its chilliness. Bruce bent before the low entrance of the igloo, ready to lash out against any threats.

 

To Bruce’s surprise, he was greeted by a cheery “hello, Bats!” Bruce felt the tension in his muscles dissipate as he let out a sigh of relief. Joker sat inside of the igloo, dressed for the weather in a thick jacket, a festive beanie that clashed miserably with his hair, and a pair of thick mittens. The clown’s nose was red, and he swiped at his dripping nose with an orange handkerchief. Bruce motioned as if to enter the igloo, and Joker indicated that it was alright for him to come in. Bruce crawled into the igloo through the small opening, careful of his injuries. As Bruce situated himself next to Joker, partly for the other man’s warmth and partly because it felt nice to do something normal with Joker for a change, the clown unscrewed a thermos. Bruce’s nose caught on to the scent of chicken noodle soup, and he inhaled deeply. Joker chuckled at Bruce’s reaction, running a hand through the other man’s dark hair.

 

After a while, Bruce turned to look up into the clown’s face, his expression curious. “So,” the billionaire began, “What brings the Clown Prince of Crime to my estate?”

 

Joker made a face at Bruce’s question, taking a moment to drink some of the soup from the thermos before handing it over to his lover. “What, Brucie, can’t I just come over and snuggle my favorite Bat?” Bruce snorted at this response as he took a sip from the thermos. He deftly removed himself from Joker’s side as the other man made a noise of disapproval. Joker put one hand on his hip as Bruce scooted back until he was leaning back against the igloo’s wall. He eyed the tiny heater and the sleeping bag in the corner before turning his attention back to Joker, one eyebrow raised. Joker grinned slightly at that. “I was gonna wait out here all night, Bats. I know costumed dorks like you need their beauty sleep.” Bruce motioned for Joker to come over to where he sat, and after rolling his eyes, Joker came over. The clown settled against Bruce, his head resting against the crook of the billionaire’s neck. Bruce inhaled the scent of Joker’s green apple shampoo, sighing in contentment.

 

After a while, Bruce could feel his eyelids drooping, and Joker decided to do a good deed and loan Bruce his sleeping bag. The billionaire had argued against it, saying that they should both just go indoor, and Joker had given Bruce the sharpest pout the billionaire had ever seen. After a while of berating him, Joker had finally convinced Bruce to stay in the igloo, at least until dawn. So, Bruce dragged the sleeping bag over to his position next to Joker, and he crawled inside, quickly falling asleep as he nestled in the cocoon of warmth.

 

Joker had closed the thermos for a long time by then, and he sat next to Bruce’s sleeping form in a location that allowed him to see outside of the igloo. He watched as the sun began to rise over Gotham City, and he removed one of his mittens before using that same hand to brush Bruce’s dark locks out of his face. Joker leaned down, planting a quick peck on Bruce’s forehead. The billionaire stirred, but did not wake. Joker smiled down at the sleeping man’s form. “Hey, Brucie, guess what,” the clown whispered, almost conspiratorially. “I. Love. You.” He followed up each word with a peck to his slumbering lover’s face. After one last moment of watching the other man sleep peacefully, the clown exited the igloo, leaving the thermos for Bruce when he awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I posted another chapter. I hope this warmed your heart, even by a fraction. Let me know how you felt about this in the comments!


	21. Christmas Grams

“Mr. Wayne, there’s someone here to see you.” Bruce glanced up from the investment report he’d been reading, his expression one of mild surprise. As far as he knew, he had no other appointments this afternoon except for a meeting that would be held later on today.

 

The billionaire gave his secretary a skeptical look. “And just who is here to see me?”

 

His secretary shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Uhm, he claims to be a Christmas gram. From a man named Jack White?” Bruce snorted at this response.

 

“Christmas grams still exist?” Bruce’s secretary gave him a look, practically offended at his insinuation that Christmas grams were a thing of the past. Bruce smiled awkwardly. “Fine, then, send him in if you’d like.”

 

His secretary nodded her head, seemingly excited that Bruce was finally getting into the Christmas spirit this year. As she exited the room, a man in a Santa suit came bounding in. Bruce sat up in his chair, mentally preparing himself for the Christmas caroling he was almost sure was about to ensue. It’s not that Bruce hated Christmastime or the spirit of the season, he was just _very_ tired of the same songs playing, on loop, from the beginning of December until Christmas day.

 

The man in the Santa suit came bounding up to Bruce’s desk, his fake white beard flying up and nearly smacking him in the face. He was rather skinny, or perhaps his oversized Santa suit just made him look smaller than he really was. He was also exceptionally pale, quite literally paper white—

 

It clicked in Bruce’s mind. Jack White? One of Joker’s oldest aliases. And the clown was also tall, skinny, and white as hell. Bruce put his face in his hands. Was it too early in the day to start drinking?

 

The man in the Santa suit pouted, and despite Bruce not being able to see it, he sure could _feel_ it. The man placed one gloved hand on his hip. “I didn’t even start singing yet, Brucie.” Bruce could feel the other man’s eyes boring into the top of his skull.

 

Bruce pulled his head out of his hands and decided that just _once_ , he should stop being such a hard-ass. Joker deserved nice things, and although it kind of pained Bruce to admit it, he was afraid that Joker would leave if Bruce wouldn’t give at least an inch. Either that or blow up half of Gotham in a boiling rage. So, Bruce put a smile on his face and decided to appease his boyfriend at least once. “Sing away.”

 

Joker clapped excitedly as he clambered onto Bruce’s desk. Bruce winced as Joker knocked some of Bruce’s papers to the floor, but the billionaire decided that those could always be cared about later. With all of the impatience of a small, hyperactive child, Joker began to sing a stream of Christmas carols. The tempos were off and Joker had to bullshit himself through several lines of the songs, but he sang fairly well, and _damn_ if Bruce didn’t find the clown to be insanely cute while doing all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, the newest chapter is up! I hope you guys have enjoyed these one shot-type stories so far. If you find any egregious errors, feel free to tell me about 'em in the comments.


	22. Santa, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort-of sequel to Day 21: Christmas Gram. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Bruce had to admit to himself that he should’ve let Joker Christmas gram him sooner. It’s been so nice to see Joker every day at work, not to mention that Bruce has felt like his relationship with Joker has really gotten a breath of fresh air recently. The billionaire absentmindedly doodled on a scrap of paper when there was a sudden knock on the door. Bruce shoved the rough sketch of Joker riding a one horse open sleigh beneath a bunch of important and official-looking documents as he smoothed back his already-perfect hair. After he’d cleared his throat, the billionaire called out, “Come in.”

 

Bruce’s office door flew open as Joker casually sauntered in, his Santa suit coat far more like a trench coat this time. The coat was long enough to obscure Joker’s shoes, and the clown was lacking the fake silver beard he’d been wearing at all of the past Christmas grams he’d delivered. Bruce raised one skeptical eyebrow as he looked his boyfriend up and down. “What’s with the sudden outfit change?”

 

Joker barked out a laugh as he slid up onto Bruce’s desk and nearly into the billionaire’s lap. The clown gazed down at his lover, bright green eyes darkening. “Oh, Brucie, Brucie, Brucie, baby! If I told you, that would spoil the surprise.” The Joker wiggled his fingers as he reached into a coat pocket. After a while of fishing around for something, Joker tugged a battered old iPod out with a triumphant grunt. Bruce was becoming even more perplexed the longer this was going on. Joker scrolled through his iPod as he plugged it into Bruce’s computer without even asking.

 

The billionaire glanced warily up at the clown, his confusion quite clear on his face. Even so, Bruce stayed silent, trusting Joker to not download any illegal files onto his work computer. Joker continued on with his preparations, humming obnoxiously as he checked to make sure that Bruce’s computer’s speakers were at full blast. Finally, the clown pulled up a song and began playing it through the speakers. Bruce couldn’t read the name of the song, seeing as the file name was simply a string of letters and numbers, but the billionaire could tell just what song it was a few seconds in. Bruce could feel his face heating up as he sank into his chair. He fervently prayed that no one could hear the music past his office.

 

The song continued on as Joker began to sing along. “Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me…” As the clown sang, he hooked his fingers around the collar of his Santa coat, suggestively sliding it open. Bruce was horrified (and kind of turned-on, if he had to tell the truth) to find that Joker was wearing an almost completely see-through chiffon dress beneath the coat, and not much else. Bruce could also quite clearly see Joker’s festive Santa thong, and in his near hysteria, Bruce had to wonder why someone would even _make_ a thong that small. Calling the thong a “strip of cloth” was implying that it was bigger than it really was. Joker began to laugh at Bruce’s reaction but continued to sing on, slowly sliding off of Bruce’s desk and into his lap.

 

“But… I-I have an appointment with some people later—“ Bruce squeaked, and his face turned even redder out of embarrassment.

 

Joker chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck as he grinded down onto Bruce’s lap. The clown leaned into Bruce’s chest, whispering huskily into his ear, “Brucie, I think you’ve got some _paperwork_ you’ve got to worry about before you even _think_ about that meeting.” Joker proceeded to lick and nip his way over to Bruce’s mouth.

 

The billionaire placed one hand on Joker’s lower back, almost instinctively, as he groaned under the clown’s ministrations. Joker was right. This “paperwork” was a _far_ more pressing matter right now.


	23. Hershey's Kisses

Watching Bruce pop a chocolate kiss into his mouth was already torture enough. Unfortunately, the billionaire liked to suck on it, loudly, while leaving it half out of his mouth, as if practically _daring_ Joker to do something about it. The clown in question squirmed in his seat, feeling a part of him die slowly as he watched Bruce eat the candy. What was probably the worst part was that the billionaire was doing it all subconsciously, and Joker could feel himself melting in front of that sexy cuteness.

 

After Bruce finished the chocolate kiss (which took an agonizingly long time), Joker scooted closer, practically pressing the billionaire into the corner of the couch. Bruce looked down at the clown curiously. The billionaire held up a wrapped Hershey’s Kiss. “Want some?”

 

Joker was about to say yes when Bruce popped the candy into his mouth, chuckling as he let the candy hang halfway out once more. The clown pouted, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “Where’s the Christmas spirit, Brucie? What about _my_ chocolate?”

 

Bruce held up a bag full of the little candies, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Fuck that. Joker shoved the bag out of his face as he lunged forward, trying to nab that small bit of chocolate before it disappeared down into Bruce’s throat. Bruce, however, sucked the chocolate in at the last second, and all of Joker’s momentum caused the clown to crash his lips against the other man. Joker could feel the billionaire laugh into the impromptu kiss, and the clown growled as he pulled backwards, taking the bag of chocolates with him. “Fine, Brucie, be that way,” Joker snarled as he grabbed a handful of kisses from the bag. “But that’s the last Hershey’s Kiss you’re gonna get.” The clown began tearing open the chocolate kisses, shoving them into his mouth like a petulant child.

 

Bruce grinned at the clown, leaning in and giving him a quick peck. “Fine by me, Joker. I’d much rather get a kiss from you anyway.”

 

That definitely made Joker shut up.


	24. Scarf

“Oh, Batsy, I didn’t know you wanted to be close to me _this_ much!” Joker’s loud laughter drilled into Bruce’s ears, and he couldn’t help but turn even redder. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Joker just _had_ to wear an obnoxiously hand-made scarf that just so _happened_ to get tangled up in his own. Now Joker’s pale face was merely a few inches from Bruce’s own. Bruce had to admit, the closeness was very nice, and this whole situation was giving him a perfect excuse to undo other articles of Joker’s clothing. Sure, the couple just happened to be standing next to one of the more popular trails in Gotham’s most regularly-visited park, but the thin line of trees between them and the trail should be enough, right? Bruce finally managed to unbutton Joker’s shirt. He sure hoped so.

 

Alfred glared sternly up at Joker and Bruce, and despite the butler’s shorter height, Bruce practically felt as if Alfred was towering over him. Bruce briefly wondered if he looked as embarrassed as he felt. The billionaire just barely registered Joker’s airy laugh, at which Alfred let out a sigh. “Really, you two,” the butler muttered as he began re-sewing a fresh batch of buttons onto Bruce’s shirt. “If both of you really wish to continue your dalliances outside of the house, at least be kind to your clothes. Based on all of the shirts I’ve had to fix over the past few days, we’re keeping the button-making industry afloat all by ourselves.”

 

Bruce desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole right this instant.


	25. Christmas

“So, even _I_ get a visitor on Christmas? How sweet of you.” The clown was leaning up against the padded wall of an Arkham cell, his voice flat and his expression neutral. The clown was almost pathetic-looking while in Arkham. His usual vivacity was stifled by the miniscule amount of free space he was given. Bruce studied Joker for one more moment before he took off his cowl. Joker merely looked on in mild interest as he shifted around, pulling incessantly against the restraints of his straitjacket despite the futility of that exercise.

 

Bruce sighed, running one gauntleted hand through his mussy hair. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this. There was going to be a time, and a place, but Arkham? Talk about a lousy turn of events. He decided that it was best to try and keep the flagging conversation going. “I didn’t want you to be here, either.” He glanced up, gauging the clown’s reaction.

 

Joker merely shoved himself off from against the wall, and his mouth pulled into a sharp smile as he approached the thick bullet-proof glass that was separating him from freedom. “If you didn’t want me in here, sugar, you could always just break me out. All those toys of yours have got to be good for _something_.” Bruce shook his head, and Joker followed suit, almost in unison. The billionaire had a feeling that Joker was mocking him, but he made no comment on that. Joker finally let his shoulders sag as he pressed his forehead against the glass. “Why don’t you admit, just for once, Brucie, that you can’t fix everything?”

 

Bruce felt his heart sink. This was going rather poorly. “That’s true, Joker,” Bruce replied, steadying his voice. “But you’ve been here for months without so much as a peep. That has to mean that you at least want to _try_.”

 

Joker let out a harsh laugh. “Yes, and we all know that _trying_ is good enough.” Joker wasn’t smiling anymore. “’But trying is the first step to success!’ Blah, blah, blah. I’ve tried, Brucie! I really did! And you can’t hold anything against me for that.” Bruce took a step closer to the glass, and he reached out and laid a hand against the cool surface. Joker looked far older than he really was all of a sudden. “I just want out, Brucie. I miss the good ol’ days. A punch here, a batarang there, a couple broken bones and cuts that needed stitching up. You know, the days when we weren’t predictable to each other.”

 

Bruce felt his heart seize up in his chest. “So-so you regret being in love?” He tried to keep his expression calm, but to no avail. It wasn’t like he could hide anything from Joker, not anymore.

 

Joker snorted. “I’m not _completely_ heartless, Bruce. I’m just tired. Normalcy is so _boring_.” The clown shifted once more, his arms fidgeting beneath the straitjacket. Someone with that much energy shouldn’t be caged.

 

Bruce hesitated before pulling away from the glass. This was a waste of time. Joker obviously wasn’t ready for—

 

“Wait. Bruce.” The billionaire turned at the sound of the clown’s voice, and Joker looked so small in that moment that Bruce felt his heart beat painfully. Bruce leaned back in towards the glass, and Joker grinned, albeit a bit too forcefully. “You’re hiding something, I can tell. Is it a present for little ol’ me?”

 

Bruce flinched before deciding that there was no reason to hide it, not when Joker already knew something was up. Carefully, Bruce popped open part of his utility belt and pulled out an engagement ring that was studded with diamonds and emeralds almost as green as Joker’s eyes. The clown let out a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. Bruce cleared his throat. “I know it’s bad timing, but I was going to—“

 

“Yes,” Joker murmured, almost more to himself than Bruce. The billionaire’s head snapped up, his surprise plain on his face.

 

“This… isn’t just to shake things up, is it?” Bruce stared hard at the clown, trying to get the other man to meet his gaze eye-to-eye.

 

Joker let out a genuine chuckled this time. “This isn’t the most romantic way to propose, Brucie, but yes, I mean it. And I know what I said about normalcy.” The clown looked up into Bruce’s eyes after a moment, almost shyly. “After all, reforming and being like the rest of you is so dreadfully dull.” At this point, Joker began blushing, and Bruce never thought he’d see the day. “But if you’re willing to stake your reputation on me, I think I could handle it. Besides, being with you is one of the best things in the world, other than throwing the world into chaos and trolling moms on Facebook. And Bruce, you’re very far from boring.”

 

Bruce could feel the pressure building up in his chest dissipate, and in that instant he just wanted to break the glass separating them and fly with Joker off into the sky. Thankfully, years of willpower training restrained him from actually doing any such thing, but Bruce let his face slip into one of the most genuine smiles he ever showed. The clown had a strange knack of being able to do that. Joker grinned back, his previous air of defeat gone in an instant. “You don’t know how happy this has made me,” Bruce muttered. “All you’ve got to do is finish up with your therapy sessions and we can start really planning all of this.”

 

Joker’s grin fell into an exaggerated pout. “But they’ve stopped serving tacos on Tuesdays.”

 

Bruce let himself laugh for once. “Then you’re just going to have to live with it for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finished! I hope you've all enjoyed this journey with me, and I hope you guys have had a very Merry Christmas!


End file.
